Fiction is so overrated

Beer and a Picture!

2012-01-28T13:29:00.000-05:00

You don't have to tell me how sexy that assemblage of Belgian styles ales is. I'm aware. Last night I took part in a belated birthday celebration of a good friend, who happens to a heck of a beer brewer himself. After a completely unrelated health scare, we were all even more ready to relax and accept a chalice of something strong and brown.

It's hard to find beer that is both good, and something Erik hasn't had before. I managed with four of the above. Well, the Corsendonk was terrible, but at least it was new to everyone (and never to be repeated). Okay, it wasn't terrible but too insubstantial to justify drinking.

Allagash Black, my one ringer and non-Flemish offering, was expectedly awesome and as good as it was, it was near forgettable compared to the trappist offerings that remained. Achel, Koningshoeven, and Westmalle, were nothing short of transcendental, to run the risk of sounding melodramatic. I'll spare you the particulars on each in hopes that you may discover the goodness within on your own. If you look carefully at the picture you'll see that oak aged Isid'or. Really hard to find and completely worth whatever price it's being sold for: it-will-not-be-cheap.

Concerning pictures, people tell me all the time to add them to the blog; book covers and such to accompany commentary. Readers, ironically, like pictures and I'd probably get more views and looks, but don't hold your breath. I have my reasons. But that picture above, it's too good to not share.

BADASS The Birth of a Legend by Ben Thompson

2012-01-22T12:56:00.001-05:00

This is without doubt the most awesome book I'll read this year. From Kali to Skeletor, Thompson explores what makes icons of bassitude in our culture. His research will astound you (the works cited pages are jaw dropping), the academic presentation will convince you, and the humor and over-the-top exploits of all those included will keep you laughing and referring back to specific passages long after you've finished reading.

The book is divided into four sections: Gods, Goddesses and other Celestial Kickass Beings, Heroes Heroines and other Over the Top do Gooders, Villains, Sorcerers, Antiheroes, and Merciless Bastards, and Monsters, Fiends, Hellspawn and Worse. Personalities mentioned span the range of mythological beings, fictional characters, Biblical titans, and silver screen showstoppers. The most immediately catching issue is the inclusion of some characters in certain categories. Gilgamesh is presented as a bad guy--and perhaps rightly so--while Dirty Harry and Diomedes, and all those they killed in the stories that fashioned their awesomeness are 'heroes.' The best and most interesting of grey area came in the first section involving deities where all were presented as neutral in terms of morals.

I've gained new respect for Zeus and Thor, the former of whom I always thought to be boring while the latter had never previously impressed me. While it's nice to be given reason to appreciate old hats, better still was the discovery of so many unknown-to-me badasses. Rama, Oya, Bradamant de Clairmont and others all left their mark. Additionally Thompson provides a ridiculous amount of information of similar beings of different cultures, regional variations on popular myths, background and context that is nothing short of staggering.

Not everyone lives up to the title (and it is with no small measure of fear that I call them out). You're only as badass as the opponent you take out and so Mr. T, King Minos, Professor Moriarty, Finn McCool, and Captain Kirk came up a bit short, not because they weren't awesome but because they were being held in the same light as Beowulf, Darth Vader and Sir Mordred. Other's like Surt have unrealized potential because we have to wait until Ragnarok to see them in their full glory, by which time we'll all be dead… I'll send a message through the proper channels to the author (not my blog) but we need a definitive measure: that's right, a NCAA basketball, single elimination Clash of the Tightest to determine who is the baddest badass of all time.

I couldn't read it straight through; it's not that kind of book. A chapter here and there, a lot of laughs in between and some truly inspiring exploits and you'll be tempted to craft the legend of your own personal badass on paper. I plan to read the other book in this series. I hope Thompson writes many more with more of the non-traditional badasses like the previously mentioned Moriarty. Even if you're not a fan of humor sites such as cracked I can't imagine someone not liking BADASS. Oh, and as for the tournament I suggested, all smart money bets point toward Samson who not only "pulled it (a lion) apart with his bare hands like it was a piece of paper made out of beef" but also managed to kill a hundred men with a donkey's jaw bone and The Archangel Michael, aka "The Chief Justice of Wrecking Evildoers' Faces" who wasn't content to "curbstomp the the Prince of Darkness into the ground with a sandaled foot" but proceeded to power-bomb the arch-nemesis of the three abrahamic religions spine-first into a fire hydrant. Internet humor, pop culture awareness, and video games knowledge will increase your enjoyment, but all you really need to do is read the words on the page to be blown away by BADASS The Birth of a Legend.

Breakable You by Brian Morton

2012-01-20T09:56:00.000-05:00

This is a rather simple story of people falling apart and trying to put their lives back together. I'm not sure any of the characters are successful in this endeavor. For all of the novel's overwrought descriptions of previously described material, wholly unbelievable characters, and general repetition it's very hard to focus on the story.

After a few decades of marriage Adam Weller, a successful writer, decides to leave his wife Eleanor for a much younger woman. He willing runs to a younger and more beautiful woman who he knows is using his fame to further her own status. He also knows that this new woman will leave him sooner than later. (On an unrelated note, if I just said, "He left his wife for a ho," everyone would have known what I meant without the need to sound semi-formal and use too many words to explain the obvious. End tangent.) Maud, their daughter and youngest of three children is on the cusp of finishing her dissertation and getting her Ph. D. when she starts a powerful and bizarre relationship with Samir a man whose past difficulties follow him everyday.

Adam is an unmitigated, self-serving, bastard and the book's most acceptable character though a minor one. He has no scruples in breaking up with his wife for the most base reasons or stealing the work of his friend to use for his own end. Throughout the course of the book he doesn't change or grow and only flirts with development before obstinately sticking to his identity. Eleanor suffers greatly but does find ways to cope with the unexpected arrival of two new men in her life.

Maud, the book's main character, is the center of so many problems. Early on we are told she has suffered two previous 'breakdowns' or 'episodes' but are never told what that means or what they were in relation too. The references were unnecessary and forced and served to undermine the significance of book's final events as Maud's life hits new undiscovered low points and instead of adding credibility to the way things unfold these premature references to her breakdowns only robbed her real moment collapse of any power it may have had.

Maud, for all her supposed instability, is smart, focused, on a solid path in life and gorgeous. She's tall. She's hot. She knows it. Samir is short and rather plain though her mental equal. A woman such as Maud would never exert half the time or energy in gaining his favor, and that was first strike against her credibility. Hot chicks don't take rejection well because the world is their oyster. They certainly don't go to such dire measure to win the attention of a guy who goes out of his way to offend her by giving him random blowjobs in public places just so he might be nice to her. (Actually, no woman does that…) Their courtship is short and involves him essentially giving her the finger while she performs oral sex at every possible opportunity. All of this is done voluntarily. Sadly, I don't live in this world…

Samir is only slightly more of an unbelievable nightmare than Maud. His past is ugly and horribly sad. Even when we learn of his first marriage and loss of a child and his torment it was hard to accept a man being moved to tears of sadness every time a gorgeous woman offers sexual favors. Samir is an 'Arab,' a word my Iranian friends assure me is derogatory. Samir ate pork sausage for breakfast one day so I'm assuming he wasn't a practicing Muslim but there is no 'Arab' ethnicity so I have no clue what Morgan means by using the word but he constantly references Samir's 'Arabness.' Maud is a Jew, which by the way actually means something. The implied conflict between the two is empty and feels like the same 'Hail Mary,' desperation, smoke-and-mirrors attempt to conjure conflict as Maud's breakdowns.

The presentation is highly repetitive and in scenes between Maud and Samir we get to see things in separate chapters through each characters eyes with almost no new meaning added. The dialogue, while well written is mundane enough to make me question it's inclusion. People just talk about everyday normal stuff that doesn't do anything to move the story forward.

Morton also has a nasty habit of drawing attention to his writing, which serves to take the reader out of the story. "And now all that was over. Adam had a new muse, or at least a new fuckmate. She used this term bitterly, for the shock effect, even though she wasn't even speaking it aloud and was shocking no one but herself." Dare I say--Wait for it…--'shocking?' Thank you for having your characters explain your though process in writing this passage. "She was eager to see Samir again and return to their sexual carnival. That was how she thought of their encounters." That first sentence was so good I can't believe Morgan couldn't be satisfied and leave it alone! "They had spent the afternoon on the couch, though, come to think of it, he couldn't quite remember whether they'd actually, technically, made love. They'd done something, but he couldn't quite remember what." I don't even know what that means. Perhaps if we replace 'made love' with 'bad acid trip' I could make sense of this, but when people aren't drugged they definitively know whether or not they 'technically' made love or not. No matter how pleasant having sex is, it isn't that subtle. "She wasn't pleased with herself for being so snitty, if that was a word." No comment… (I can't help it! ARGH!!! It's not a word and making me question word worthiness doesn't make it okay!)

There's a baby, there is a meltdown--a character's not my own--there are a couple of deaths, people go their separate ways and try to move on. There may have been some tangible connection between Maud's slightly self-indulgent philosophy studies with the plots events or character's lives but I couldn't stop rolling my eyes at characters actions to find deeper meaning. Morton's over reliance on italics in dialogue doesn't help either and eventually any nuance he may have had easily turned into a nuisance.

There is nothing particularly bad about this book: the writing is solid, even the dialogue is well done if only uninteresting. The characters perhaps try too hard at everything they do and are incredible to the point of unbelievable but even if you can get over this you have to deal with prose inconsistencies. You have to take the good with the bad however it's the disparity between the two and the erratic variability of their appearances that make the reading difficult. I leave you with this:

"The sky was gray and grave and grim and the river was dull and humped and hunchbacked, yet she found all of it stirring, because the day was anything but bland, but at the same time as she was glorying in it, in the large-souled moodiness of nature, she had to keep glancing down to make sure that she wasn't about to step in dog shit, and she tried not to think of this as a metaphor for the human experience." pg 231

I feel bad having re-written that passage; at least I can say it wasn't original to me. If you have no problems with that paragraph you'll enjoy this book much more than I.

An Open Letter to Every Semi-Pro Band Everwhere Ever

2012-01-09T12:42:00.000-05:00

Congratulations. You've risen from the basement to the garage and now have landed at Spanky's bar in Midtown as the house band. Your hard work has paid off, you're profecient at your instruments, your set pieces are impressive and you even have a following that borders on groupies and at least one aspiring roadie that your forty-four year old drummer calls, "Son."

As you've worked your way up to your current place of prominence you've acquired a few great pieces of gear that are inline with your status of 'semi-pro.' You've got a handful of highly sensitive mics, a top-of-the-line PA that you bought on craigslist second-hand for a great deal and, of course, everyone has upgraded from starter instruments to the glory of their profession with enough amps and wattage to aurally shatter concrete. You don't have a sound engineer and you, as a band member of "SKULLCRUSH," have never stood back and objectively listened to the sonic havoc you wreak.

This may come across as harsh and I don't mean to offend your musical sensibilities or pride, but you--the indiviual and the collective body of musicians that make up SKULLCRUSH--you sound terrible. Allow me to explain.

It's a combination of factors: the quality of your gear and instruments, the size of the venue you're playing in, and primarily (I'm sorry to say) your conviction that even though Spanky's is only 2,200 square feet that somehow, someone there can't hear you. The later is exponentially compounded as all members of SKULLCRUSH hold to this obscure and wholly untrue belief. It's the proliferation of volume that make you sound terrible; nothing more. The remedy is simple and you've heard it for years, but forgotten in light of your new found success. The solution has been preached more often than the, 'practice and hard work will get you where you want to be' philosophy that you've so dearly taken to heart.

You: SKULLCRUSH, every-single-member-of-the-band; you're too loud...

Sincerely with the Kindest Regards,

Chad Hull Esquire, concert goer and regular frequenter of Metro Atlanta's many small venues, blues bars, juke joints, and dives.

Books of the Year 2011 and of Things to Come

2012-01-01T11:17:00.001-05:00

2011 has been the year of book buying. With Borders going under and clearance sales all around me I bought more than twice as much as I read this year. Finding a few more used book stores to spend time in didn't help either. This trend will most certainly stop going into the new year and I'm okay with that.

Reflecting back on books this year and last year I'm struck by how much food plays into my memory of memorable novels. Bare with me... I'll never forget--and hope to soon revisit--a most depraved Christmas Day dinner, comprised of more liquor than subsistence in Jerusalem Poker with Joe O'Sullivan Beare and Cairo Munk; two of Jerusalem's most powerful and wealthy sharing a paupers feast in the ghetto on a freezing cold night. It was made special by way of circumstance and all they said and didn't say. Equally powerful in my mind is a meal shared by The Deathless Man and Natalia Stephanovic infuriatingly unnamed grandfather in The Tiger's Wife. The two of them and their waiter share a decadent dinner on a patio while the city they are in is currently being bombed out of existence. I don't know why these things stick out in my mind as strongly as they do, but there you have it. So, recommend me something with good grub and phenomenal imagery that takes me far away and chances are high I'll like it.

I read forty-three books this year which was off my repeat goal of last year's fifty; last year I was able to hit fifty-three. Last year I said I wouldn't make this goal. I was right in that the five-hundred plus page doorstoppers I've been trying to get through slowed down my progress. Oh well; it's not as if I minded reading any of those books. I did read nine books that were actually published in 2011 which is a big deal for me. If I keep this up I may become one of the cool kids. This was also a big year for what I didn't read.

There were three books I couldn't bring myself to finish. I've said before I've no scruples in putting a book down, but I thought I'd gotten better about identifying my interest before picking a book up than to start and not finish three. Slaughter House Five by Kurt Voungout, The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley and The Dancing Girls by Maragret Atwood were decidedly not for me. I can't see myself ever giving any of these a second chance. I think I have a "Books I didn't finish" label but don't really care to link to those entries.

Now on to the good stuff.

This is officially not a "Best Books of 2011" list. As previously noted, I've only read nine books from this year. As such, these are the books that stood out to me--enough to merit some special designation--at the end of my year of reading.

Most Forgettable Reads

I should have put down The Hammer by K J Parker, and I never thought I'd say that about one of her books as everything else of hers I've read has been amazing. In many ways the fact that I didn't enjoy it and finished this book is also they biggest surprise of the year.

I also have to mention Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill, Dark Mondays by Kage Baker, Summerland by Michael Chabon, Trader by Charles de Lint and The Mammoth book of Merlin edited by Mike Ashely. All but the last of these books are by authors I love. As a proviso I'll say, none of these were 'bad.' Some were merely not special; others not for me. (And in Chabon's defense, when you're Michael Chabon the bar is ridiculously high.)

Biggest Surprise

Firebirds Soaring edited by Sharyn November not only has the most badass cover art of anything I read this year but is also the most, 'out of the blue, how-did-I-come-across-this-book?' piece of awesome that ended up in my hands. I don't care if it's young adult, or adult fiction, science fiction or contemporary literary fiction: it was awesome and containted two of my absolute favorite short stories. Ever. I'm not sure if this anthology is being continued or not, but I am certainly tracking down previous installments in the coming year. Yeah; I singled this one out...

I didn't know what to expect going into Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card so saying "Wow," feels appropriate. I didn't know Arturo Pérez-Reverte could write a book like The Painter of Battles and considering how well he did it; I'm amazed we haven't seen more from him in this vein. The Dala Horse by Michael Swanwick (this link goes to the short story; not my commentary) isn't necessarily his best piece of writing, but it may be the most concise and powerful piece that embodies all of his awesomeness. It's a beautiful fairy tale and it's diet science fiction all at once. (Swanwick made a comment on his blog that the story was straight up Sci-Fi, but then said as soon as it's publish the matter is out of his hands and readers have the final word.) It's whimsical and profound. It feels real and lingers on the mind. I always expect the amazing from Swanwick, but this story is really good.

Best New Author Discovery

This is the hardest category yet considering the amount of repeat authors from last year I've read. I going with André Aciman and Nicole Krauss (said as quickly as I can manage as to not dwell on the other names I left out.)

The Best Book I read in 2011

I said back in August that this category's winner would come from that month's reading. E L Docotorw's Ragtime, Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chaing (which I should invent it's own category for), Of Love and Other Demons and Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The French Luitenetn's Woman by John Fowles and Catherynne Valente all came out swinging, but the final choice still comes down to Krauss' Great House and Aciman's Call Me by Your Name. I'm glad I had half a year to mull on this answer before stating my claim; I needed that much time.

Nicole Krauss is simply the most badass and subtly powerful writer I've come across. Damn near everything else I've read pales in comparision. I can't wait to check out her back catalouge.

A surprising trend that has persisted the past two years: my 'best book of the year' have been written by a women. A disturbing trend that has persisted is I haven't let comments for either of those books. I don't know what that means, but in case of Krauss, everyone that has left comments for it makes mention of needing a second reading so I don't feel bad. As I said last year in the case of Gershow, I enjoyed it too much, read it too fast, and didn't take any notes. I will re-read both and leave comments for both at some point in time, that said Great House is not merely 'about a desk,' no matter what you read saying to that effect.

Next year will be kinda lame; I'm gonna shoot for the same goals: fifty books read, a door stopper a month, and at least two commentaries a month. Wish me luck. Happy New Year.

It's now time for champagne .

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-12-31T10:42:00.000-05:00

The 'year in books' post is coming tomorrow so I'll suffice it to say, I've read The Final Solution by Michael Chabon, The Last Waltz by Anne Enright, and The Folded World by Catherynne M Valente. This month I've also made substantial dents in BADASS: The Birth of a Legend by Ben Thompson and Breakable You by Brian Morton as well as a handful of short stories online from various outlets and a few history books. I tried and I tried and I tried to leave comments for The Last Waltz which is wonderful, but was unable to make any progress. I don't know why some books pose such a problem and other don't. If you've ever taken any of my recommendations, go read it; you'll enjoy. I feel less stressed now that I've finally given up on leaving remarks for this one. It's been a good, and busy reading month.

This month was filled with the usual holiday fun and stress that always seems to mark my Decembers. I went to New York to see my sister which was a nice change to our families usual Christmas blandness. Had a great time, saw somethings I hadn't seen before, and spent more money than I'd have liked, but that's what one does on vacation, right?

This was also a really sweet month for live music. I saw two shows, and plan on one more tonight: Cake--a band of which I know nothing about but I don't have new year's plan, it's free and I have friends going so why not? BB King isn't my current favorite blues guitarist. He is, however, one of my all-time favorites. Ever since his health has led him to do his shows seated the thrill has definitely gone. He talks more than he plays, his voice has lost much of it's vitality (which is heart breaking when compared with his glory days) and he doesn't even play his own lead breaks any more. It's not like I paid for this show so I guess I shouldn't complain. My let down is in part my fault, I was expecting the manic demon shredder/vocalist of the 1960's that gave us Live at the Regal and At a Cook County Jail replete with guest appearances from Buddy Guy and Junior Wells. What I got was a modern blend of 'smooth jazz,' big band, synthesized strings, and gospel sound that draws a certain kind of crowd. Good for BB good for the industry, good for "The Blues." I was expecting too much. I'd have loved to kick the 'dinner party' crowd out, taken BB his drummer and bass player down to Blind Willies and put the blues back at the forefront of peoples attention in a small seedy dive bar but oh well… The big surprise this month came from Gavin Degraw at a free show in Atlantic Station. This boy's swagger is so big it has it's own twitter account. I was shocked, I was amazed. Rock Star. The easy summation is: it was the best live music performance I've ever seen. Go see this guy live; you will not regret it. Yeah; I didn't see that coming either…

I saw Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol as well. It as fun; as I've said before I don't comment on movies as I expect so little from only seeing a handful in a given year.

As to what's to come next year, your guess is as good as mine. I've stopped looking to the future and only enjoy the moment. Besides, none of my plans ever come to fruition anyways so I'm forgoing the effort.

The Final Solution by Michael Chabon

2011-12-27T22:25:00.000-05:00

The story is a murder mystery that is, in truth rather light on both, but extraordinarily dense with bravado and craftsmanship. There's a little boy with a few horrible communication deficiencies and parrot that speaks, among other things, a string of numbers erratically in German.

No, seriously, that's the whole plot.

We, of course, meet other characters, an elderly police detective, a hot-headed younger son, a murderer with a motive, and a bee keeper, but the biggest star here is the author. Chabon strings together the most meaningful and dense collection of words you will find in modern literature. His descriptions are slightly obsessive, perhaps even manic, but primarily gorgeous and leave a firm imprint on the mind; his colorful use of language manages to be both whimsically and profound at the same time. The narrative is simplistic and straightforward but you read Chabon's work to understand how something trite can be made beautiful in hands of one to today's chic literary behemoths.

The murder is solved; the parrot is returned; a little boy is made happy; and the innocent are exonerated--if not exiled--all in wonderful groupings of words that no one else could have assembled. Yet, I can't help but feeling like this book wasn't what it was supposed to be: chapter one, all nine pages of it, was so intent on a boy who is decidedly 'not right' and a parrot. Given Chabon's attention to this duo and his powers as a writer, I really wanted to read a story about this boy and his parrot--by the end of chapter one, I was more than a little bit in love with this boy and his parrot. That story is not included in The Final Solution: A Story of Detection and that's okay. To the benifit of us all, Chabon's genius goes where it will and not where I would have it go: I'm more than content to follow a few steps behind in awe.

Book Shopping in New York

2011-12-27T16:43:00.002-05:00

The Strand is very cool. It's much like my favorite local used book store just all kinds of bigger. Everything is beautifully labeled and organized. Having never been there before, and considering its size, I was taken aback at how easy it was to shop unassisted. I walked all over just for the sake of being able to say I did, but I really only paid attention to the fiction section.

I gave myself a budget of fifty dollars and was pleased to only go over by five. I picked up The History of Love by Nicole Krauss and Eight White Nights by Andre Aciman; two of this year's favorite new-to-me authors. I doubled up on Michael Chabon; The Final Solution was a good read on the plane back to Atlanta (review forthcoming) and A Model World and Other Stories will be my introduction to his short stories. I got a copy of BADASS: The Birth of a Legend by Ben Thompson for Christmas and it made me think of Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks by Ethan Gilsdorf which I read last year. I found a copy of the latter as a belated Christmas gift. Paul Auster's New York Trilogy--of which I know nothing about except high praise from people smarter than me--rounded things out.

The Strand and the mega-giant Barnes and Noble on Union Square both didn't have a single copy of Half-Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan which I found odd for a book that was only shortlisted for the Booker Prize and won Giller Prize. I'm curious about this book but I was also to be a gift, so I wasn't heartbroken at not being able to find it. Oh well, I'm telling myself that the book is selling extremely well and demand has exhausted supply.

Good thing I don't live in the east village... because I can't afford to. But if I could The Strand and the PDT bar would seriously challenge the integrity of my wallet.

But, I'd like an Ending Please...

2011-12-22T23:04:00.000-05:00

I spent a lot of time today with The Paris Review. You don't need me to tell you they publish quality stuff. There seems to be a trend in high-end, fancy literary fiction; more so than general 'post-modern' make what you will of future events, stories today just seem to end abruptly.

I'm not saying I need definitive closure, but bring me to a point where I can see an end or multiple plausible endings. In the three stories I read today (some are printed on line, in full and for free; the rest are so good you should go to your library and read them) all of them felt like they finished well before the halfway point.

Perhaps this is more a reflection on me as a reader, that said I'm a reader. I am the author's and editor's endgame.

So when you write a story and it's fabulous and you develop themes and characters with great cunning and subtly, remember me: I can appreciate the aforementioned things, but I'd like an ending please.

Shopping

2011-12-20T12:27:00.000-05:00

I didn't feel guilty Christmas shopping for myself. I luxuriated in the experience which isn't the point of the holiday, but retailers don't seem to care, so neither did I. I bought two copies of Joe Hill's fabulous collection 20th Century Ghost to give as gifts only to realize that I don't know two people that would get off on Hill's writing in the necessary way. Maybe I should start anonymously mailing books to my internet friends; at least I know some of them would enjoy the book. I bought The Sarantine Mosaic because GGK wrote it and I pretty much buy anything with his name on the cover. Lastly, I got The Oxford Companion to Beer for a friend who I know will love it. It is without doubt the most expensive gift I've ever gotten anyone other than myself.

I actually had to re-read this post to see that three of the four books I bought weren't for me; perhaps I'm not the Scrooge I though I was.

The Folded World by Catherynne M. Valente

2011-12-13T19:31:00.000-05:00

For my comments on book one of A dirge for Prester John; The Habitation of the Blessed please follow the link.

The most non-traditional fantasy series I've encountered continues not where things left off in The Habitation of the Blessed but in much the same fashion. Hoib's fate is uncertain, and friend and understudy Alaric is allowed to choose three books just as Hoib did. Alaric chooses three apprentices and they set out to copy the perishable script as fast as they can. I was hoping for a different presentation than the 'book-tree' if for no other reason than Valente had used it before and has demonstrated that her creativity doesn't need to lean on repetition. That said, it still works and works beautifully.

The Book of the Ruby is told by Hagia, yet is John's daughter's, Anglitor's, story. It tells of Pentexore preparing for war and the possibility of death for the first time in a thousand years and John's literary efforts. He has rewritten the Bible as to include Pentexore and not break God's word. John has also written letters to Christendom and letters have come back; Jerusalem is ripe to fall. They called to the fabled King Prester John for help and armored with delusions of grandeur, and complete ignorance John and his people set out to war.

The Left-Hand Mouth The Right-Hand Eye is written by Qaspiel at the request of Vyala, a lion somewhat outside of standard Pentexore life. Vyala is the care taker of John other daughter; the one he fathered with Hagia, Sefalet. Both of John's children are disfigured by standards of Pentexore a result of the union of two worlds coming together that shouldn't have ever mixed. Sefalet got the worse of it; she shines with arcane light, suffers convulsions, and is tormented with unwanted prophesy.

The third book, The Virtue of things is in the Midst of Them, was the most curious of the three, written by John Manderville a great adventurer and liar of prodigious ability. He adds color and, much as Prester John did in the first book, gives the reader a sense of familiarity; something we can latch onto while we come to grips with all of the author's bizarre originality and conform our minds to think as she wants us to. John Manderville starts off as comic relief, "I am immune to shame, boredom and cholera, but I confess fire and lightening will do me quiet in." However, he shows us a second world of Pentexore one that is shut away from the first. (One that I can't believe I didn't immediately recognize!)

Much as in Habitation of the Blessed it is the coming together of the three narratives that makes things so interesting. The encounter of John Manderville and Sefalet, Prester John's homecoming and a rather odd meeting of Salah-ad-Din, the understanding of what war is to a people to whom the concept is completely foreign. There is also a fourth narrative briefly told, one continued from The Habitation of the Blessed and it is perhaps the most powerful and unifies all the others. The intellectual criticism of religion and the power it hold over men like John walks the line between pensive and didactic. Valente has an odd power when talking about the absurdities of organized religion and listing it's faults while doing so by way of mythical creatures and wholly imaginary entities. This ain't Narnia Toto…

There is so much going on in Valente's world. I'm tempted to make some absolute statement like: "Never before has a writer packed so much material into to so small a space." Actually, that doesn't sound half bad, only I'm sure I haven't read enough to qualify to say such a thing. I can't even begin to guess where she'll go from here with the third book; all I can do is sit and wait until next year for it's publication. Valente remains in my mind one of the most creative and distinct voices writing today.

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

2011-12-12T20:19:00.001-05:00

The war had altered everything. Once separate, the pieces that made up our old country no longer carried the same characteristics that had formerly represented their respective parts of the whole. Previously shared things--landmarks, writers, scientists, histories--had to be doled out according to their new owners. That Nobel Prize-winner was no longer ours, but theirs; we named our airport after our crazy inventor, who was no longer a communal figure. And all the while we told ourselves that everything would eventually return to normal. Page 161

The Tiger's Wife is a story of two doctors of different generations treating people as best they can, confronting situations beyond their control and always dealing with the effects of war. There are ever present conflicts within the novel that are never dwelled on yet can't be forgotten: we see illness through the eyes of Natalia Stefanovic and her grandfather; anxiety, disbelief and the pressure of dealing with superstitions that seemingly can't be explained; a commingling of Christians and Muslims; and always the threat of regime change.

The story of The Tiger's Wife is Natalia's grandfather's, though he never gets a chance to talk to the reader. Instead Natalia recollects story's that were shared with her concerning her grandfather dealing with two notable characters, Gavran Gaile, the Deathless Man and The Tiger's Wife. These characters, both of which deal heavily with superstition and the quasi-fantastic, are alternately presented in between Natalia's account in the field working to start a clinic for orphans. Both Natalia and her grandfather are venerated in their profession and yet both are made to deal with illnesses they can't compete with.

Natalia's grandfather grows up in a village, always on the outskirts of war or feeling the impeding pressure of one, where two very unique situations present themselves. An escaped zoo animal takes up residence outside the village and seemingly finds a friend to aide it's survival in a deaf, mute Mohammedan, the butcher's wife: The Tiger's Wife. Natalia's grandfather watches as ignorance and misunderstanding of one who can't communicate and has suffered psychologically what no one in the village could know or relate to, turn into hate and present the perfect scapegoat for all the villages problems.

The Deathless Man has been cursed by his uncle Death to not be able to die for a past offense. Natalia's grandfather meets him a few times over the course of his life; after being drown, shot in the head, and once on a beautiful night on an outdoor patio while the city is being bomb where they share an incredible meal. Natalia's grandfather's life was one marked with a great frequency of extraordinary events.

The story that Natalia's grandfather seeks to tell is very sensitive and wholly compelling. Unfortunately I don't think the chronological gaps and alternating back-and-forth between Natalia's narrative and that of her grandfather's did anything to enhance the story despite the thematic similarity that two share. As opposed to something like Nicole Krauss' Great House where the fifty-page, extended vignettes served to strengthen what preceded and comes after The Tiger's Wife left me feeling a bit agitated as any of the novel's vast host of intriguing characters are all built to fit into the place of an omniscient third person narrator. There's a lot of confusion in The Tiger's Wife as is indicated by the passage I chose to quote at the beginning. Some things get ironed out, most don't. It's a melancholy book with an extra heavy dose of anxiety: there is a tiger on the outskirts of town, a war on the horizon or more often than not, a war going on that has since become a part of the peoples lives to the point where it is now just seen as white noise in the background. Much to my surprise, the bouncing around works by the end of the novel. There were stories within the novel I loved; characters I wanted to know more about; and my heart went out to the eponymous character by the halfway point. It's rich in allegory and heavy with potential. Overall, I found it to be spoilt by an overwrought presentation and an inability to focus on a given central idea to fully resonate.

For a much prettier girls take on the same book, check out what Claire has to say.

Joint-Blogging Awesomeness

2011-12-12T17:30:00.000-05:00

So I've been bad about blogging lately, sorry... I should have posted a bunch of inane stuff just to keep interest high after seeing an influx in traffic after Kim's big hurrah, but I didn't. I've been stuck in a small, dense book for all of December (more on that in a few days).

Now that I'm back, blogging that is, I never went anywhere, I've got a lot to say and I want to say it all at once. First reviews are coming, lots of them: The Folded World, The Tiger's Wife, The Forgotten Waltz (God... am I the only one who isn't immune to the repetition of indefinite articles?) all warranted me having something to say.

I took a trip to the library at lunch to exercise a demon. I've been bitten by a history bug; actually it's an itch that has needed scratching for a long time. I haven't had this kinda non-fiction urge since grad school and I can actually link my history excursions to an escape from music in both instances. (Which is to say, at the present, I'm getting really good at guitar. Or perhaps I only need to turn the volume on my amp down, however I at least see a direct correlation between the quality of my playing and obnoxiously loud volume settings with a fuzz face pedal and delayed reverb stomp box.) So history yeah... don't expect me to be leaving comments on any of that as I am certainly not qualified to do so and my interest in the past are probably more esoteric than my current taste in fiction. Nonetheless, this history thing will probably be taking up a good chunk of my reading time in the forseeable future.

Lastly, and most awesome, Claire emailed me, stalked me down, stole my identity (only to find out it's not worth having much to her chagrin) and threatened me into submission about some joint book reviews. I like the idea as it not only gives me a chance to talk about books, but will hopefully show me a different perspective: one from a much prettier girl. I had the first pick and the only real rule was that when a selection was mentioned we wouldn't do any research prior to reading the book. I think we are aiming for one a month. So be sure to look for those reviews, and check out her blog as well, in the near future.

(And the future is now, so give me an hour or so and the first one will be up.)

Reading Recommendations

2011-12-04T12:06:00.000-05:00

Kim at Reading Matters asked bloggers what was their best book of the year. The books mentioned were not confined to 2011 publication, genre or any other criteria, and while the major publishing outlets will no doubt heavily repeat themselves with their 'year's best' list this selection of books covers great books you may have missed in years past and those that may not have gotten the attention they deserve this year.

Scroll through and see if you can find my selection (I missed it on first glance). My choice came with the proviso that I didn't leave comments for the best book I read this year. I'll explain that in greater detail in a few weeks when I do my own best of the year list.

There are a lot of great books here and you'll be sure to find other bloggers of interest as well.

Did I do something wrong?

2011-12-02T09:32:00.000-05:00

"Why were you late today?"--My employer

"I was reading."--Me

She actually looked at me as if I needed to explain myself further. What's up with that?

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-11-30T23:32:00.000-05:00

This was a busy month; fun and challenging to the point where I almost felt a difficulty in writing this post.

I was chairman for the Bar Golf Association Midtown Championship Cup this month. We played nine holes in Midtown--a difficult nine holes, nine holes that had to be strategically played, nine holes that not all could live through to tell the tale of conquest. I was quite pleased. Somethings I learned that should be shared: The Daiquiri Factory LCC is not to be underestimated... Ever. Mezcal taste terrible (like smokey butthole, or something... ) and is a general travesty upon your palette. Vortex Bar and Grill is over priced to def, with very poor service. I discovered Wild Heaven and Pawel Kwak beer this month; both of which are exceptional. Atlanta's own Red Brick should be avoided at all cost, well at least their blond; Left Hand Milk Stout on Nitro draft is as close to heaven as you can get. Moving on...

I bought four books this month: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes, The Forgotten Waltz by Anne Enright, The Folded World by Catherynne Valente and Breakable You by Brian Morton. Never heard of the later but I'm reading it for a joint reviewing 'thing-a-mig-awesome-jig' I'll share soon. I've talk about Barnes already, and if you just want the short version: read it; it's great. The Folded World is the book I was looking forward to this year more than any other. I have no doubt that it won't disappoint; I hope to tell you about next month in great detail.

I read six books this month. Yeah, six; I'm surprised too: Ragtime by E.L. Doctorow; Memories of my Melancholy Whores and Of Love and Other Demons by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, This is where I leave You by Jonathan Tropper, Mother Aegypt and Other Stories by Kage Baker, and The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes. I'm glad I don't have to pick a favorite book because I would give myself fits this November.

Concerning Ragtime, a book I didn't leave commentary for, but allow me to share my brief encapsulated reading experience of this novel. I usually read books in my apartment: sitting on my couch, legs propped up in the recliner, crossed at the ankle, a glass of water/whiskey/rum/beer/whatever at my side. This is how I read Ragtime. Around the third word or so of the novel, Hollywood rigged explosives to my front door and blew it off the hinges with the power of 'Amazing.' Not yet being satisfied, Hollywood then moved to throw a deluxe size Hefty bag, over-stuffed with 'Awesome' bricks each weighing thirty pounds at me while I sat on the couch and read the book. This process continued to happen until I finished reading: that is to say; this was the most visceral and intense book I've read in a very long time, it's lost none of it's power since publication, and if it's not considered a classic, then those who determine such things are severely lacking in judgement and need to be replaced.

From a distance December seems extraordinarily busy; this is not a bad thing. I'd rather report after the fact than speculate as to what will happen before; tune in for the following 'Month in Review.'

I'll state no plans for the future as doing so seemed to do me well in November.

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

2011-11-30T15:10:00.000-05:00

"It strikes me that this may be one of the differences between youth and age: when we are young, we invent different futures for ourselves; when we are old, we invent different pasts for others." Pg 88

The Sense of an Ending is narrator's Anthony Webster's reflection on his life. The book feels like a memoir that starts with the good stuff rather than the very beginning. We see Tony and his friends as they start college; spiteful of all they don't have and jealous of those in possession of what they want. "You're just romanticizing what you haven't got." Tony was guilty of this accusation as a young man and never truly manages to escape it later in life. Seeing this earlier part of Tony's life shows him as hopelessly pretentious and wholly convinced of his own brilliance, but the self deprecating humor that he reflects back on his youth endears him to readers from the beginning.

Adrian, a friend in Tony's gang, is a bit different from everyone else. His intelligence attracts others to him if not making him distinctly singular. While all Tony's friends thoughtfully muse on life and history, Adrian's seriousness leads him to contemplate, "Is the application of logic to the human condition in and of itself self-defeating?" The first part of the book is far more philosophically engaging than driven by narrative with a post-modern 'make of this what you will' presentation of ideas. The stories Tony relates are viewed through the lens of what Tony should have picked up on at the time or how he should have interpreted events as he looks back with the clarity of hindsight.

Barnes' voice is beautiful and has what I thought to be a very fluid rhythm to his prose that makes the book very hard to stop reading. While Tony questions everything in his youth and endears us to his vanity his eternal adult questioning of everything and second-guessing of much of what he has lived through does become a bit of a chore to put up with.

Years after Adrian's premature death the topic of his diary, which was bequeathed to Tony, brings Tony back into the world of his early twenties forty years later. Veronica a one time girlfriend of both Tony and Adrian helps to drive the story forward by way of torturing Tony's memories; often filling him in on things he didn't know and altering his perception. An oft repeated passage, "History is the certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation," nicely serves to unify the symbols of whatever concrete information Adrian's diary may hold and the abstract recall of Tony's memory.

There is a change of focus in the last quarter or so of the book; a marked shift from the philosophical musing to a more gripping story driven search for answers. While Barnes handles matters deftly the move felt cheap as all previous material's open-ended questions give way to a quest for definitive explanation. It works and everything is done very well (to the point where subsequent readings will probably yield new meaning and interest) I only wish these two aspect might have merged earlier in the book instead of presenting such a large change of attention at the end.

It's a wonderfully engaging story to read even if when finished the imprint on the mind fades rather fast. There is a little bit of everything: humor, drama, melancholy, and surprisingly, resolution. With such broad appeal and well-crafted prose I have a hard time imagining the reader that wouldn't enjoy this subtle, short read.

Of Love and Other Demons by Gabriel García Márquez

2011-11-27T14:56:00.001-05:00

"The girl, daughter of an aristocrat and a commoner, had the childhood of a foundling. Her mother hated her from the moment she nursed her for the first and only time, and then refused to keep the baby with her for fear she would kill her. Dominga de Adviento suckled her, baptized her in Christ and consecrated her to Olokun, a Yoruban deity of indeterminate sex… Sierva María learned to dance before she could speak, learned three African languages at he same time… and to glide past Christians unseen and unheard like an incorporeal being… Over time the slave women hung the beads of various gods around her neck, until she was wearing sixteen necklaces." Pg 42-43

A young girl is bitten by a rabid dog and feared to have been inflected with the disease. That is all the plot needed for the author to tell a very dense tale of injustice. Sierva María is a child of neglect. Her mother had to force herself on her father merely to conceived a child so adamant was his desire to not be a parent. While it is Sierva María that takes center stage it is the supporting cast that lends so much power to the story.

The novel's setting is perhaps García Márquez's greatest testament to his writing ability. He is able to convey so much that will be foreign to many readers in so short a period of time and in so vivid a manner. There is an immediacy to his setting: things don't develop in your mind as you read rather they are communicated instantaneously. It's a strong trait for any writer but combined with a semi-exotic locale and a period of time that hasn't been overdone it is very easy to be swept away.

It's made very clear that neither of Sierva María's parents want anything to do with her and her care is entrusted to the family's slaves. Twelve years later she is fluent in Yoruban, Congolese, and Mandingo, and sings and dances with the grace and beauty to rival the other African slaves while she struggles with Castilian, literacy and courtly graces expected of her as one of the aristocracy. "The only thing white about that child was her color." This would be a reoccurring theme and a trait that would cause her much suffering for the perceived flaw.

"He always believed he loved his daughter, but the fear of rabies obliged the Marquis to admit to himself that this was a lie for the sake of convenience. Bernarda, on the other hand, did not even ask herself the question, for she knew very well she did not love the girl and the girl did not love her, and both things seemed fitting. A good part of the hatred each of them felt for Sierva María was caused by the other's qualities in her. Nevertheless, to preserve her honor, Bernarda was prepared to play out the farce of shedding tears and mourning like a grief-stricken mother, on the condition that the girl's death have a seemly cause.

"It doesn't matter what," she specified, "as long as it's not a dog's disease." Pg 16

Upon the incident of the dog bite and the possibility of her going mad and dying from rabies, Sierva María's father takes an interest in her and in the course of a few days attempts to make up for a life time of neglect. This change of mind greatly helps alter his own life in a positive way, yet even after being convinced by the best doctor in town that Sierva María is fine and rabies has passed her by her father, the Marquis, comes to find that he doesn't know his daughter at all. He finds her odd and many of her actions fey. He convinces himself that something has to be wrong, that she is mad and needs to be institutionalized in a convent to await exorcism. Though it is initially his love and concern that harbingers the demise of his daughter his, and the love of others ultimately interfere with Sierva Maria's happiness and condemn her.

The intervention of the church complicates matters immensely. The Bishop and Abbess see all Sierva María's superstitions and inexplicable occurrences as African magic and works of the devil. While Cayetano Delaura, the priest charged with performing the exorcism who has a peculiar past with the Inquisition and his sights set on a position in Rome, can't find one rational argument to justify her being possessed, rather many to suggest she be canonized as a saint.

The novels strongest interactions involve Delaura. His unlikely and short friendship with Abrenuncio, the doctor who first vouched that Sierva Maria was free of rabies, shows Delaura to be too smart a man to believe in possession or risk an exorcism that could mean death. And yet he can't surrender to the logic his mind has told him to be true or the comfort of an atheist like Abrenuncio who, without the restraints of faith, has proven himself even smarter than Delaura. As the two spend more time together, Delaura sees himself as much a heretic as Abrenuncio who is outside of faith and in possession of every book forbidden by the church. Theirs is a relationship of shared intelligence when those around them seek the scapegoats of demons when their reason fails them. Abrenuncio sums up their friendship bluntly in a conclusion that undercuts all of the sentimentality and respect the two share: "I leave you with this enigma," Abrenuncio concluded as he spurred his horse. "No god could have created a talent like yours to waste it scrubbing lepers." Both a powerful literal statement of Delaura's life and a euphemism for what he could be.

I think García Márquez's best feat is writing a historical novel without the standard narration that is so common today: "In the year X, in the country of Y, there was a small town of Z in which..." He writes the book as if it were being read by someone of the time and from that area. The presentation demands a little bit more from the reader but it is in no way demanding. Taking into account the simplicity of this kind of narration it's odd to think that I or anyone else would champion the style as it is nothing more than exactly how contemporary fiction of today is written. The story is as much about Sierva María's parents and her doomed relationship with Delaura as much as it is about herself. (There is an absolutely gorgeous paragraph at the end that encapsulates the beginning, middle and end of Sierva María and Delaura's relationship.) With characters this strong and material this powerful I remain in awe of how García Márquez worked it all in a mere one hundred and fourty-seven pages.

Mother Aegypt and Other Stories by Kage Baker

2011-11-23T17:52:00.000-05:00

Baker's diversity and creativity are on full display. While there doesn't seem to be a setting she is not comfortable with, there certainly are some that play to her strengths more than others. Much like another collection of hers from Night Shade Books, Dark Mondays, there is a lot of great quality writing here, it is unfortunately surrounded by other quality writing that isn't particularly great.

There are two stories that happen in the world of Baker's novel The Anvil of the World; 'Desolation Rose' and 'Leaving his Cares Behind Him.' In both the characters are well defined and exist in a simple fantasy world that readers have encountered before; except the world's "Dark Lord" is married to the "Saint of Light" and the exploits of their children take center stage. While 'Leaving his Cares Behind Him' feels like an introduction where a magical prodigal returns home with nothing to the reprimand of his parents, 'Desolation Rose' was more fleshed out and showed the anti-hero, Lord Ermenwyr, taking advantage of a family in ruin for his own benefit and how he is forced to atone. There were layers of depth in this story that made me think the novel could be something worth checking out.

'The Briscian Saint' showed three soldiers on the run contemplating the rational mind versus faith and superstition; people and gods; and the reality of people's work juxtaposed with god's supposed intentions. The story itself is strong, but secondary to the thoughts and ideas represented. One facilitated the other and the narrative didn't suffer in any way.

'Miss Yahoo Has Her Say,' a story set in the world of Gulliver's Travels was strong enough to hold my interest despite the presentation of speech that I find so irritating in all fiction: slave speech, for want of a better term. 'Her Father's Eyes' had a complex setting and the most potential for development, yet it seemed that Baker didn't want to go anywhere with the material established. The whole story took place on a train where the world is shown through the eyes of two children: a world in a dome, people that can't be seen by others, and so much intrigue to make me want to keep reading yet when the train ride is over; nothing continued. Rather everyone just packed up and went home. There was a great deal of set up that went into so modest a payoff.

'What the Tyger Told Her' and 'Nightmare Mountain' were the two stories that I would make someone read if I put the book in their hands. 'What the Tyger Told Her' dealt with a child's observations of family conflict and political maneuvering in Victorian England. We see that a little girl is able to learn and infer what will happen next with the help of her friend, a caged tiger, and the fact that she--as a child--is invisible in the eyes of adults and her intelligence is written off due to her age. 'Nightmare Mountain' was a fairy tale replete with a woman who was cursed to never touch the earth, her son who would die if ever seen by another person, plenty of evil spirits, and house that was nothing short of Gormenghast (Technically, that link goes to Titus Groan but I plan on reading Gormenghast shortly) that they all lived in. The son's marriage and the drama that ensues has "Hollywood" all over it and was a great joy to read.

While I feel this collection was much stronger than Dark Mondays with a few standout stories and a strong supporting cast, fans that have come across Baker's name in best of anthologies and themed collections may be best advised to wait and check out the table of contents from 'The Best of Kage Baker' collections I hope we'll be seeing in the near future following the authors untimely passing.

This is Where I Leave you by Jonathan Tropper

2011-11-18T15:17:00.000-05:00

I've never liked the genre appellation of 'women's fiction.' The umbrella term is too big, and offers too many points of contention no matter how well it may work as a marketing phrase. Previously, 'women's fiction' primarily bothered me because it somehow inferred that there were elements of human existence outside of biological imperative that were unique to the female sex, like relationship difficulties; family problems; sexual assault; how one's life changes upon having children. (I admit the possibly of still being wrong in this regard.) I haven't read much of what is labeled women's fiction and have previously refused to give it any credence until I come across something called, 'Men's fiction.' I'm not going to present it this way, but if someone wanted to, it would be easy to make the argument that This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper is decidedly 'Men's Fiction.'

Judd Foxman is in his early thirties, no longer as physically fit as he used to be, and recently unemployed by way of his wife sleeping with his boss. When his father dies and his family has to sit shiva, spend seven days and nights together to honor their father's memory, he is made to examine every aspect of his life by way of spending time with his family and seeing things in a different perspective.

This first thing that came to mind when I finished this book was The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. Both novels are hilarious. Both are about a seemingly dysfunctional family (both novels are perhaps about the average American family and that is their strength in that readers can identify, no matter how bizarre, on some level.) Tropper's novel is more intimate focusing solely on Judd where Franzen encompasses the entire family. While Judd is not 'everyman', he is a close enough approximation that 'every reader' can embrace, reject or commiserate with him at some point.

We see how Judd handles his age and deals with his insecurity concerning how he sees himself and how he thinks others see him in his interaction with his youngest brother Philip who is a good looking, charming, womanizer and life long prodigal. The weight and effects of Judd's guilt and his ability to avoid uncomfortable--no matter how important--events are made clear as he is made to spend time with Paul his older brother whose future, post high school, was irreparably changed in an incident where Judd was a crucial figure. Perhaps most poignant was Judd's observance of Horry, a neighbor and childhood friend who now requires assisted living due to a traumatizing childhood. Judd sees how Horry is living with brain damage, how he manages to keep going and slowly but surely takes hints that time isn't going to stop for him. No matter how absurd his life is.

The women in Judd's life: his wife, his brother's wife, the girl from high school he bumps into while in town, and every other woman that he lays eyes on, show Judd's desperation for a loving relationship with anyone who truly cares about him. As he says many times, Judd loves the idea of being in love; particularly so when he has massive relationship problems to work through which are probably best left uncomplicated by new physical relationships.

Time marching on is one of the book's themes that all characters struggle with. Judd can't see past the current nightmare of his life, Horry's feelings of everyday being the same as the last, Philip's inability to grow up and stop making the same mistakes, Paul's hurt and anger that has kept much of his mind and emotion in the past contrast with the one character who has already moved on from the tragedy of her husband dying and started a new chapter of her life: their mother, who somewhat presides over and originally demanded that they all sit shiva. And while she may have had a bit of a head start, or anticipation, in getting over the death of her husband it is through her that the family comes to see that at the end of seven days even though their father has past, life will continue.

It sounds like a highly dramatic, somber and bleak book with weighty themes and not a lot of light at the end of the tunnel. It is dramatic, but what separates This is Where I Leave You from anything anyone else that could have written is Tropper's humor. This is the funniest book I've ever read. No matter how dark or irresolute the situation everything, is humorous; mainly by way of men behaving badly. There are no punch-lines, or situational comedic setups. There is nothing so preconceived as building a scene for the sole purpose of telling an appropriate joke. Everything is organic, very contemporary, most of it will leave you slightly embarrassed or wondering if in the same situation would you have been able to say the same thing.

In addition to being hilarious Tropper has a great way of stopping time in his writing and going over multiple conflicting thoughts or feelings in an instant within various characters without being tedious.

This is a book about men: how the talk, how they feel, how they think; it's as funny as it is honest. Dare I say some women may not like it, others maybe surprised.

"There is no talking to her. And now the tears come, just like that. Where have all the happy, well-adjusted women gone? Every one I talk to these days is one wrong word away from a crying fit. (...) "Thanks for understanding, Judd," she says, and she must be joking, because, Alice, honey, I would travel to the ends of the earth, kill or die, just to find one single thing that I could understand." Page 297

Tropper sure is tough on his narrator as things start out bad and only continue to get worse. There never is an impending feeling of 'happily ever after' rather something more like, 'everything will work itself out.' Amidst all the humor ( every page--every single page--had me laughing about something ), drama ( of which most is understated to keep the narrative focused on the outcome and not the exposition of how the drama came to be ), broken; mended; and open-ended relationships, Tropper succeeds in a blunt, concise portrayal of family finding a way to deal with each other in the most adverse of circumstances.

The Difficulties of Reading New Books

2011-11-16T10:58:00.002-05:00

I had a goal this year to read at least five books published within this calendar year. A pretty simple goal; five isn't much by anyone's standards. There were a few I was eagerly anticipating, and I figured there would be a few that would pop up and excite me. Halfway through November and this goal has been accomplished.

A few other books have recently caught my attention; books that have been published in the past few months and I've decided to double-up on my reading goal of new books read in a year. What I've come to find is if you want to read new fiction and talk about it with the 'in' crowd (which is basically anyone who received an ARC) you have to buy the book, join the cool kids in the in crowd, or win the lottery. The lottery would be your local library.

My library system is great. I have no complaints, but if I want to read The Forgotten Waltz by Anne Enright, or The Folded World by Catherynne Valente and get the book through my library, I'll be waiting for a couple months. I'm glad there is demand (such demand is reassurance of my interest in a book) but jumping in the queue at number two hundred forty-three to read A Sense of the Ending by Julian Barnes feels a bit like joining the rat race of bloggers who eagerly try to post their thoughts first on the latest received ARC that the industry is raving about: it doesn't make me lose interest in the book, but my sense of urgency and desire to read such a book is stymied by the wait, or the threat of having to spend fifteen bucks. That, and I presently own fifty books I haven't read...

So in an effort to double-up on my reading of books published this year by the end of this year and my dislike of the freebie handouts, I am enabling myself to do something I haven't done in a very long time: buy a handful of books from Amazon. (And no I'm no excited about spending the money, but I'm calling it an early Christmas gift.) So, I'm about to order an armful of books; everyone wins, right?

No one Told Me!

2011-11-14T19:40:00.000-05:00

So The Folded World by Catherynne Valente is out... I'm gonna have to add her to my author watch list. Last I checked on this book I thought publication had been pushed back to next year.

I absolutely loved the first book and The Folded World was a book I planned to read this year in an effort to read more recently published fiction. I've already hit my goal, but please believe I just ordered The Folded World. Was anyone else looking forward to reading this or surprised that it has already been released?

Just talking about this one gets me hot and bothered.

Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garia Marquez

2011-11-04T00:47:00.001-04:00

"I could not bear it any more. She sensed it, saw my eyes wet with tears, and only then must have discovered I was no longer the man I had been, and I endured her glance with a courage I never thought I had. The truth is I'm getting old, I said. We already are old, she said with a sigh. What happens is that you don't feel it on the inside, but from the outside everybody can see it." Page 98

A cursory glance at this short novel could be very dangerous and highly misleading. The title and the first few pages would indicate an immature recollection of an old man's colossal sexual exploits. For a ninety year old man who was twice awarded 'client of the year' in the red light district and kept a log of all the women he had sex with up until he was fifty--and recorded an epochal five-hundred fourteen--you'd think, 'Well hey, this will be interesting if not absurd…' I was blown away by this novel for reasons you wouldn't believe from what I've said thus far.

At the heart of this book are two themes the author has dealt with in many of his other works: getting older, and what it means to be in love. The narrator is ninety, hideously ugly, has never once allowed himself to be in love, and has paid--monetarily paid--for everyone of his sexual encounters. He is terrified of commitment (and arguably a spineless sap in general) and seeks fleeting relationships that are finite and business like in nature.

We see his age through his interaction with other people: an editor at the newspaper where he works that is young in good health and in possession of good looks; how people treat him as an old man after making a prominent mistake in public; how 'Delgadina' sees him (rather how he envisions her seeing him) as time goes on and he falls in love with her, a fragile fourteen year old girl. Readers and the narrator learn the most about him as he falls in love for the first time at ninety and behaves with the angsty eye-rolling behavior of an adolescent. Being in love has taught him more about himself than ninety years of life experience.

"When the storm had passed I still had the feeling I was not alone in the house. My only explanation is that just as a real events are forgotten, some that never were can be in our memories as if they had happened. For if I evoked the emergency of the rainstorm, I did not see myself alone in the house but always accompanied by Delgadina." Page 59

The most unexpected pleasure in this novel was the title and how it factored into the narrative's presentation. A 'horse-faced' man of ninety years old with a jaw-dropping laundry list of sexual exploits is absurd in itself, but that we only learn of him from the women--some of whom our narrator is out of line to call a whore--that he had relationships with, not merely sexual encounters but relationships, is amazing. The three perfect women that he was presented a chance of marrying but didn't and the one who procures Delgadina, who he may yet chain himself to, present the narrator in the best of light: ugly, flawed, and as far from a hero as possible yet virtuous (in his own corrupt way) to a fault that he has lived, or perhaps suffered, for ninety years.

One could argue it lacks the objectivity that third person narration could offer, and I'd be the first to agree. I'd love nothing more than to get inside Delgadina's head, but the intimacy and awareness that we gain with the narrator isn't worth giving up and to paraphrase the narrator, it was better when Delgadina was asleep and didn't talk… There is a very coarse sentimentality here, tempered by the narrator's age and experience and the fact that readers have a difficult time being moved to sympathy of feeling on his behalf. It's a fully realized telling of a story the author hinted at in Strange Pilgrims 'Sleeping Beauty and the Airplane.' I challenge you to find a better book at one-hundred and fifteen pages, or perhaps if you're feeling adventurous, even more pages than one-hundred fifteen.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-10-31T19:48:00.001-04:00

October 2011 is proof that I need to stay busy if I plan to get anything done. Too much free time leads to procrastinating, and infinite, "I'll do it tomorrows." Not good.

I worked the Taste of Atlanta festival which was fun for many reasons; least of which was having 'lunch' with a handful of free tasting coupons for two straight days. I found a few new restaurants that need to be checked out more thoroughly and although I didn't get into the VIP section where there was unlimited hooch I heard some rave reviews of a couple of new-to-me bars. If only all of my work experience were this rewarding...

I did a lot of book shopping this month; which is always fun. In doing so I've learned that my compulsive book buying is out of control: I bought a copy of Love in a Time of Cholera only to get home and see that I already own one... It doesn't concern me as I can trade it in next I'm at a bookstore but that was proof and me admitting my problem. It's okay; I have worse hobbies than buying books.

I finished a lingering behemoth this month: Kushiel's Dart. I've gotten more comments for that book than any other post on my blog; you'll notice I haven't published one. (Thanks again Maria.) There needs to be a little bit more substance than just poorly expressed hate for my feelings and abject cruelty towards my ethnicity for me to publish certain comments. Perhaps, not printing those comments hurts my credibility, but oh well... My blog isn't as popular in the book world as say, The Millions, but I've learned that is you want to attract people to your book blog, not necessarily fans--just people, pick a handful of beloved best sellers of multiple genres for the first books you want to review and hate on them. You will get hits.

My blog did cross the 10,000 page views mark this month. I don't think that means anything but I'm using it as an excuse to pour myself a drink. Oh, and Easton Press and all publishers featured in my Book Review series own me a monetary kickback. You're Welcome; now pay me.

I feel absolutely certain that I read more than just The Hunger Games, Trader, and finished Kushiel's Dart this month, but despite my reading log, checking my book shelves and library check out recent activity, and sifting through my blog post for the month I can't turn up evidence that proves I read anything else. I am however, within a hundred pages of finish line in The Tiger's Wife. I'll have my thoughts up on that later and share some super awesome new news when I do.

I always liked putting my reading goals 'in writing' as it were on my blog in these end of the month post, but as of late I've been so terrible at achieving those goals that I think I'll forgo the opportunity this time around.

Oh yeah, and I have to say Maria wins the newly established "Quote of Month" award for, "Everyone in the book seems to be in the middle of an existential crisis." Which she used in her review of a Charles de Lint novel. It still makes me laugh and I've adapted it in reference for a group of people I work with.

Shopping

2011-10-21T16:24:00.000-04:00

I thought I wanted to do some book serious book shopping today but when I arrived at Atlanta Vintage books, for whatever reason, I wasn't in the mood to sift through their well-organized collection of 70,000 plus tomes. I was in and out in ten minutes; I usually spend an hour in this store.

I bought two books by Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Memories of my melancholy whores and Love in the the Cholera. The former I've never heard of, but yeah, the title got me and I love the fact that it's short; all of 115 pages. I'll knock it out on my next day off.

Whips and Chains, Red Hot Pokers, and the Limit of my Fantasy Indulgence

2011-10-20T12:06:00.002-04:00

Kushiel's Dart is not Cupid's arrow. There is no winged, Renaissance, adolescent, cherub shooting a bow with the power of Nerf's foam. Oh no, Kushiel is Jacqueline Carey's god of pain and pleasure; he who can make is hurt so good, The God of Boning and he takes to his task like an over zealous nineteen year old at a keg party.

This will be a very long post…

I think plot is the most important part of a book; if the story has nothing going for it no matter what the themes or their development, I'm not gonna keep reading. Kushiel's Dart has plot and a very strong one. It is however familiar. What I'm going to be talking about is what I saw as plot head scratchers that, if I'm to be honest, kept me reading.

I have to start by saying I thoroughly enjoyed Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey. I'm not saying that because Maria gave it to me as a birthday gift. (Thanks again.) I liked it. I do wish the book started on page three hundred and fifty-six, but still, I enjoyed it. The story is about Phedre; her life growing up as a whore's unwanted child, her training as a high-end courtesan meant to pleasure royalty, and of getting caught up in a political game in which she and her ethnically ragtag group of friends get to save the kingdom. (For those who need clarification on the latter, I stopped reading this book around page three hundred and fifty. When I picked it back up, I struggled to remember who Joscelin was, when I remembered it came to me as 'Oh yeah, The White Ninja.' That's how I prefer to remember him. He's basically a standard white knight who can win a fight unless the odds are higher than eight on one or if there is a demigod involved. Phedre's other friend is an Indian Gypsy. Of which there seemed to be a lot of 'Indians' in an otherwise re-envisioned Europe.)

Phedre is 'cursed' by Kushiel, a secondary deity in a hierarchy that I never fully grasped, to experience pleasure in pain as well as humiliation, shame and nearly all things 'regular people' would find degrading. Kushiel's Dart, a scarlet mote in her left eye, and how it compels her to act is the backbone of nearly all of her actions. Her thoughts are sculpted by her owner. Phedre is a pseudo-slave until she can save up enough to finish an elaborate tattoo that will earn her freedom, and at least to my mind, considering it's size would greatly mar her beauty. She is trained to observe: look, listen, think and understand. She is a hooker-spy to use far less beautiful words than Ms Carey.

Hooker-spies are awesome. Phedre's ~~pimp~~ owner--who bore the unofficial title of 'Whoremaster of Spies' I kid you not--was so lucky as to have two; though only Phedre was marked with Kushiel's Dart. The other hooker spy ( I swear I'd use another term if I knew it) is a boy named Alcuin. They are both trained as courtesans for damn near all their life up to that point in time. When they get to the really good stuff, their owner Delaunay strictly forbids them to 'practice' what they have learned with each other. Marinate on that for a moment….

I'm not going to do any ten-second, vaguely academic internet research, but lets just suppose that teenagers are having sex at a younger age than the past generation, and the generation past that. Carey tells us that both Alcuin and Phedre are gorgeous and very well skilled at their art (they even had secondary education from an older, legendary now retired hooker) and I'm to believe they didn't do anything? Really? Because I didn't believe that, though I did come to see a very interesting possible explanation as to why.

I kept reading.

Phedre, due to Kushiel's Dart, was usually sold through a pre-arranged contract and being into the S&M scene she and Delaunay knew there were those who might get carried away. There was a 'signale' written into the contract; a safe word that she could speak aloud and everything would stop. No patron would risk carrying on past the signale as the financial and political recourse was seriously not worth the headache. I equated the 'signale' to coitus interruptus, or withdrawal, pulling out. Understand Carey is a very skilled writer and fully made me believe in what it meant to bear Kushiel's Dart: the bearer felt pain and pleasure when, whipped, slapped, embarrassed, or was neatly torn to ribbons by a straight razor, but the person inflicting the pain also felt equal amounts of pleasure. Remember this is torture-porn; not just torture. (Actually, it's not pornographic at all.) I don't understand that concept, but Carey's writing is clear enough that I could go with the narrative. The person inflicting the, I'll suffice it to say, 'bruises' is enjoying this. The person holding the whip or 'bruise inflicting instrument' as it were, is quite literary getting off on whatever action is taking place; so again I bring up withdrawal. I won't regale you with my sex life covering thirty-one years, but with no superficial research in my favor, let me state as a universal absolute: withdrawal, 'signale'… That doesn't work.

I kept reading.

Much like Carey's prose, I loved the world she created. One of the more intriguing facets was a sexual ambiguity that was wholly embraced by at least the D'Angelines--they are the super arrogant, uber-haughty ethnicity of nearly all the main characters. It is a radically foreign concept to imagine in our world and maybe one that I didn't fully wrap my head around. There is a minor 'free love' philosophy in Kushiel's Dart. Carey's characters state it as 'love as thou wilt' or something to that affect. Alcuin, the male hooker-spy, was only contracted out to men. That said his career as a courtesan is very short and Delaunay was possibly using Alcuin to his own best advantage and perhaps not catering to any perceived sexual preference of Alcuin's. However there is certainly a love interest between Dalaunay and Alcuin. (Age ain't nothing but a number; 'Love as thou wilt…') Phedre is more often than not directed to men as well, but there are women. In so far as I could follow the authors description, as beautiful as Phedre is, Alcuin was the choice pick of the two; at least physically speaking. If you wanted to beat someone you had to wait your turn with Phedre because Alcuin didn't play that game. I wasn't bothered by the free love, pick a gender attitude of the D'Angelines, it just left me uncomfortably wondering, wanting to read more. Which may have been exactly Carey's ploy. That said, my questions were never answered with anything strong enough to call a cultural definitive.

I kept reading.

Phedre is marked by Kushiel's Dart. We are not allowed to forget this. She is the first such person to be marked in three hundred years i.e. Well out of living memory, that said every D'Angeline noble has a 'pleasure chamber.' A pleasure chamber is what you think it is: the S&M dungeon replete with every possible implement of 'pleasure' sans the leather with a decor from the wealthiest homes on HGTV. There hasn't been one like Phedre in three hundred years but everyone is well prepared. Everyone has a pleasure chamber… just in case. This is the equivalent of parents today giving their children shields just in case they get in a sword fight at recess. The D'Angelines are boy scouts if I ever knew one!

I kept reading and was rewarded with the biggest head scratcher of all. This book is fantasy, so just as there has to be a male badass with a sword, some poor woman has to get raped; right? There was a moment when rape became a real possibility and little more than a paragraph was dedicated to how one marked with Kushiel's Dart viewed sex without consent: "Love as thou wilt." Phedre can't help who she is and many times, against her will, she finds pleasure in what other people put her through; 'the body betraying the mind's desires' or something like that. Rape isn't a comfortable topic for me and I'm not going to go into psychology of a rapist, but if you've been paying attention thus far, or even better, if you've read the book, you'd think Phedre would be near chomping at the bit, as horrible as that sounds in this situation. When that situation came up in the book Phedre was scared. She wasn't excited mentally nor physically, and I as a reader was glad of it. I did think that the reasons given were impossibly weak and undermined all the precepts Carey set down in the nine-hundred page novel about one who is marked with Kushiel's Dart. No matter my enjoyment of the book or Carey's prose, on principle I should have put the book down after this passage.

I like Carey's voice. It sounded like it was being read aloud to me and is very comforting. I'd be very curious to see where this series goes though I'd need some serious assurances up front concerning certain things, and some time to put between reading Carey's massive works. I'm not sure this cast has been assembled to save the kingdom before: Hooker-spies, White Ninja's, and fortune telling gypsies. If you have a reading group and you want to start some lively discussions I don't think it's possible to run out of things to say about Kushiel's Dart. As for me, I could keep going, but I'm choosing to stop.

Racism, and Marlow's Tavern

2011-10-15T22:40:00.001-04:00

I already don't like this post...

I'd happily forgotten my first encounter with racism but tonight brought it back to the forefront of mind with a veracity I didn't know possible. (Regular readers of my blog--both of you--forgive me. I know I don't do personal stuff, ever, but I have too.)

So as I'm washing my hand at Marlow's Tavern in Duluth I see this picture:

It's not subtle. There isn't much to read into it. I took this picture with my camera phone. Here's the artist pic from his website. Perhaps I'm missing something. I tipped my deserving bartender more than 125 percent and left...

I'm sure I'm being oversensitive. I'm sure this is funny to someone, I'm sure; wait... never mind... I could never excuse this picture. It's only 5,000+ miles and a mere 150 years of insensitivity thrown in my face as I pay you for my dinner.

Yeah, I won't be going back to Marlow's again. To say nothing for the artist.

Shopping

2011-10-15T12:58:00.000-04:00

This was the first Saturday in a long time that I've had off and it just so happened that my favorite used bookstore was having a 'buy one get one' free deal. Perhaps it was the promotion or all the other stuff going on with it, but it was encouraging to drive up to a bookstore and see a packed parking lot. They might be making money; they might be breaking even; my gut tells me them are merely cleaning out space and attempting to shrink inventory. Whatever the reason, I've never seen this many people, this much activity or felt so much energy in a bookstore.

I've heard a lot about E.L Doctorow's Ragtime and since I couldn't find the short story collection of his that I wanted, for one dollar I didn't hesitate. Cory Doctorow's (I don't believe of any relation) Someone comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town, I bought for the same reason as Ragtime. I may have to be a good consumer and buy new copies of both of those short story collections, but that won't happen any time soon. To continue this theme, I bought Of Love and Other Demons by Gabriel Garcia Marques... that's right, you guessed it, because I couldn't find the short story collection of his that I was looking for. I also bought it because it has an awesome title. I'd never heard of this book, so who knows what to expect? I've been eyeing Jack Vance for a long time. Lyonesse, is one that I've read about in a few place this year despite the books age.

There was one book that I purchased new. It was a recommendation from the most unlikely of sources: my older sister, who I didn't know could read. On the strength of a bizarre reference and how much my sister liked it I'm looking forward to The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

Not a bad haul considering I spent less than twenty bucks. Trade in seven books; walk out with five... I'm okay with that. My to be read shelves still hold more than I can feasibly read in a year, but I'm okay with that too.

Trader by Charles de Lint

2011-10-11T12:59:00.003-04:00

I've become familiar with the author in recent years by way of his story stories found in many collections and anthologies. It was a personal reading goal for 2011 to read one of his novels. While urban fantasy isn't usually my thing, Trader exposed more of my likes and dislikes concerning the author than the genre.

Max Trader is a high-end guitar maker and all-around regular (if not boring) kinda guy. He wakes up one morning in full possession of his mind and wits inside his Johnny Devlin's body. How this happened is never explained or given much thought. Trader only thinks of how he can get his body back and stop living in Devlin's nightmarish life with its inexhaustible problems.

The primary theme is identity and what makes us who we are. My initial thoughts upon reading about a hundred pages in were of the success of the the medical field's face transplant patients. If no one you know recognizes you as you, are you still the same person? Trader wasn't that deep by far as even after Trader and Devlin switch bodies both are still recognized by other people as the person whose body they are currently in. I didn't really care for the development of this idea but more due to it's repetition than the fault of Trader and Devlin.

The dichotomy of the two's lives couldn't be further contrasted, but the search for identity theme became a bit diluted when the focus, while never exactly shifting, encompassed Nina, Lisa, and Tonya. Nia is a teenager and dealing with teenage problems; Lisa, Nina's mother, has only just confirmed that her sexual identity isn't what she thought it was; and Tonya, Johnny's ex, is determined to define her self as something other than who she is currently sleeping with. The reader is a bit inundated with scared, insecure people and their identity problems, added to which some of the problems are more interesting than others. Lisa, and Nina felt necessary to the story. Tonya was a duplicate of Max, both coasted through life with no strong passions or desires; Max was defined by his guitars, Tonya her boyfriends. The horribly named, Zeffy, was the novel's ever present antagonist and 'voice of reason.' My primary issue with the cast isn't it's size rather that de Lint treats them all as primary characters. The story is about Max and Johnny but it was sometimes hard to see this as equal time was given to all other characters.

In addition to character and theme repetition, pay attention to the names: Zeffy, Johnny, Jilly, Janossy, Gheordie, Julie, Wendy, Christie; Tonya, Nina, Lisa... I haven't exhausted the character list; I've merely decided to stop here. All in all, this book suffered from too much homogeny to allow the conflict Johnny and Max to ever take center stage.

Trader is always on the cusp of dealing with very large social issues and it seemed to be more of de Lint's intention to merely plant a seed of thought than develop the idea. There was certainly enough thematic material to indulge some of these social issues but seeing all the characters given I'm glad de Lint chose not to go the way of social commentary as it would have inflated the book even further. His prose is gorgeous. His voice reminds me of Guy Gavriel Kay. Trader was a book I wanted to like more than I did. I'll continue to seek out de Lint's work, but it will be the short stories that initially brought him to my attention where I feel his writing is more strongly focused, at least compared to this particular novel.

Fire breathing lizards, A man named George, and... soup

2011-10-04T12:12:00.000-04:00

Wings of Fire edited by Jonathan Strahan and Marianne S. Jablon is a dragon themed anthology published in 2010. There is a very strong mix of traditional fantasy, science fiction and fantasy blended together, and contemporary stories; the latter two being more to my preference much to my surprise.

While the collection is altogether solid I found very few standout stories that would make me put the book in someone else's hands or say, "You have to buy this right now!" Big names like Orson Scott Card, George R R Martin, and Naomi Novik don't fail to deliver in any way, merely left me with a feeling of a solid piece of fiction that I could have walked away from at any point in time.

There was nearly enough material in this five-hundred page beast for two anthologies: one with the traditional fantasy dragon stories, and a second--more unique in my opinion--with the oddball stories full of things your didn't expect. While not feasible in today's publishing world, the current anthology philosophy seems to be 'cram as much of the theme's stories in as possible' makes for a very uneven (uneven in approach not quality of writing) collection. This opinion may also be a reflection of my change in interest concerning the types of fantasy works I enjoy.

I've got no patience for traditional epic fantasy these days, so it makes sense that the non-traditional dragon stories would appeal to me more. Additionally, there were a lot of 'new to me' authors in this anthology who wrote pieces I really enjoyed. The new discoveries are always the best part of a good collection.

James P Blaylock, Robert Reed and Charles de Lint all offered something different. Michael Swanwick always offers something different but I do feel that King Dragon is in every single fantasy themed anthology ever (to no fault of the author or editors). Fairy tale stories by Gordon R Dickson, a brilliant title St. Dragon and The George, and Roger Zelazny, who delivered satire and humor into the dragon equation with, The George Business, had enough familiar material mixed with new elements to still feel fresh. The one true standout for me was S P Somtow's Dragon's Fin Soup. It was the one story I read and on completion said to myself, "How have I not heard of this guy before?" There was a dragon involved so I guess that makes the story fantasy, but the quality here makes me think there are many literary publications who wouldn't mind printing Somtow's work.

I don't think Wings of Fire is the kind of book you want to sit down and read straight through. But if you keep it in your line of sight in your reading area, a story here and there makes for a good time. Dragons breath fire, rampage and pillage, but for the most part Wings of Fire is pretty harmless.

A New Discovery

2011-10-02T14:16:00.001-04:00

I can admit that I don't spend a lot of time browsing the internet. There are specific places I'll check on from time to time, but I don't try out new stuff too often. That said, my favorite bookish website for a long time now has been The Afterword, the book department of The National Post, a Canadian news source. This article by Craig Davidson was so good, not only am I going to check out his fiction, but hell, I may even start reading non-fiction. (Which would be a huge feat!)

Perhaps I found it interesting because it was personal and it's rare to find someone willing to expose their venerability. Perhaps it was because I could relate on many levels or merely because I liked Davidson's writing. I don't know. I don't care. Read it. Then you tell me.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-09-30T22:44:00.001-04:00

This month flew by; I don't say that often. Lots of things falling apart and breaking down in my life and that combined with some crazy work hours left me with not a lot of reading time and not much read. Worse still, much of what I tried to read wasn't of interest to me and I ended up not finishing.

I did read Wings of Fire Edited by Jonathan Strahan and Marianne S Jablon. I'll have a 'not a commentary' on that whenever I have strength and energy. It helped to highlight my changing reading preferences in fantasy and solidified my suspicion that I need to check out more science fiction. Currently, I'm about half way through Trader by Charles de Lint. Reading a book by de Lint was a New Year's resolution and I'm glad I finally got around to it. I'll be looking into much more of his works.

My only reading goals for October will be to finish Trader and Kushiel's Dart, which I didn't touch this month. I'm hoping that if I keep my goals super low there may actually be a chance of me achieving them.

I bought three books this month, all of which I've very excited about. The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters is ghost story-ish, Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson will most likely decide a lot of my future fantasy reading habits, and This is where I leave you by Jonathan Tropper. I can't remember where I first heard Tropper was awesome, but a lot of people say so and the first few pages were great. Waters was one of those books I heard so much about upon release that seeing it in the bargain bin was too hard to resist. I'm hoping to love Warbreaker so I can say I'm not done with the kinda a fiction that initially made me fall in love with reading, but I have my doubts. Time will tell.

I could do a lot of complaining about various things here, but I'm honestly too tired. And no one wants to read that kinda thing anyways... I'll try to be more interesting next month.

Yet another DNF

2011-09-24T22:26:00.001-04:00

This is not a good trend... this time it's Margaret Atwood's short story collection The Dancing Girls. I read six of the stories: a little more than half the book. The writing is perfect, some of the imagery is amazing and her ability to pick a catchy title is way strong. The prose itself, the characters, nor the plot were interesting enough for me to keep reading. I'm really surprised I stuck with it as long as I did.

I'll be adding this to the pile to go back to the used bookstore along with another short story collection I have of hers. I'm a bit concerned as I have a few massive novels of Atwood's on my self, but then again, people I trust-ish have raved about the novels. I've heard no mention of her short stories.

Sad Story of the DNF

2011-09-09T06:53:00.003-04:00

I've been doing so well this year that it was bound to happen. Previously in 2011, I've struggled with two books both of which I managed to get through, but finally I'm agreeing to throw in the towel. I've gotten really good at knowing my taste and even broadening my reading interest but I couldn't find any reason to stay with The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

There was a powerful feminist element that had the subtlety of a freight train. This did not bother me. The story is of the fall of Troy primarily through the eyes of Kassandra. As I crested the two-hundred page mark in this six-hundred page monster I began to feel she was trying to make up for many male writers complete disregard for women as men in The Firebrand are not only completely useless but also anything but desirable. The delivery of this message is pretty heavy-handed to the point that I thought she was being as bigoted as the male writers that may have driven her to write the story as she did in the first place.

In the beginning of the book Kassandra's older sister Polyxena, was subject to many eye rolling comments because she liked 'pretty things' and indulged in gossip about city boys who sought her affections. I felt like Bradley was making fun of my sister. I like my sister. I made up my mind to put the book down, when Andromache, Hector's promised bride, was first introduced. She is summarily chided and chastised for wanting to be married, to have a husband. Yet her character is so confused (read: Bradley didn't know what she wanted to do with her) that I couldn't even sympathize with her. She has lived her life in a city ruled by a Queen where, not surprisingly men are completely useless, a nuisance, a pest at best. The following is a bit from a conversation with Kassandra:

"What should she do with a husband? Two or three times since my father died, she has taken a consort for a season and sent him away when she was tired of him. That is what is right for a Queen to do if she has desire for a man--at least in our city."

"And yet you are willing to marry my brother and be subject to him as our women are subject to their men?"

"I think I shall enjoy it," Andromache said with a giggle..." Page 128

So she can stand up for how things are done in her city and appreciate her mothers place of power, defend her entire culture and yet longs to give it up for what she sees as possibly being fun... Yeah, some real strong principles there... Perhaps she is ironed out and made to make sense further in but I'll never know.

All this harsh and bitter treatment towards men makes me want to write a book where men have a stronger place of power, and women are only after thoughts. A book where negative attributes of women will be put in strong relief when contrast with the earthshaking power of a character like Conan. Oh wait a minute... That's right...

I can't say any thing definitive as I didn't finish the book, but if there is a problem with a women's place in literature (which I confess ignorance as to whether or not there is) I certainly do not think Bradley is any part of a solution. Ultimately, none of the issues stated were the reason I put this book down. I love the story of the fall of Troy; it's heroes and heroines, but Bradley's storytelling couldn't hold my interest. I'd make a recommendation, but the author is male and by this point I'd just feel dirty doing so.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-08-31T22:05:00.001-04:00

I've already hinted at how awesome of a reading month August has been. I read The Magician King by Lev Grossman, Call me by your name by André Aciman, and Great House by Nicole Krauss, the first two of which I've let commentary for. I made a substantial dent in Kushiel's Dart. Also, I read a couple of stories on line this month which is rare for me as I don't like reading on a computer screen--it reminds me too much of work: The Dala Horse by Michael Swanwick and The Girl Who Ruled Fairyland for a While by Catherine Valente. Swanwick's story has his usaual mark of, "Is this Fantasy, SF, or contemporary fiction?" that I find awesome. Valente continues to create her own mythology in everything she writes, which I find mind-blowing. Finally, I've read about a hundred pages of a short story collection by Margaret Atwood, The Dancing Girls, which has done nothing for me.

Oddly, I haven't read anything in the past five days. I've been busy but more so than this I've been so thoroughly sated by Call me by Your Name that I just haven't felt the need to read a book. To put an exclamation mark on how good of a reading month this has been, I will say now--with absolute certainly--that my meager 'best book I read this year' award will come down to Call me By your name and Great House, either way I choose, I lose. At least I've got a lot of time to consider the matter. So read them both yourself by the year's end and then you can tell me why I picked the wrong one.

August ended on a bit of a bummer: a funeral for a family member, a whirlwind trip, relatives, high emotions and all that goes with it. I picked up the Atwood book looking for something read in the car, and at the hotel, perhaps the circumstances I've been reading it under have affected how I view the stories but I don't think so. I missed out on the Grossman book tour stop in Atlanta, but hopefully his publisher will give him the same treatment for the third book, and I'll catch him then.

Next month I look forward to the Braves clinching a playoff spot. I plan to finish The Dancing Girls, Gormenghast by Mevryn Peake, and The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley. Hopefully, I'll also get around to another chunk of Kushiel's Dart. I'd hoped to get to The Tiger's Wife this month but due to a shipping err that didn't happen. Not sure about September, but it will get read by the year's end. I'm tentative on a few writer's workshops in the Decatur Book Festival, which is a really big deal, if you're in the area and thinking about going.

Though it's still ninety degrees in the shade, it hasn't been ninety-eight degrees in the shade for a week or so: I look forward to this trend...

In terms of reading, I need to get August out of my system, Now. Of the fifty-one books still clogging up my unread stack I'm sure I've got some real good ones, but I've got to get these past couple of gems out of my system if I'm to enjoy anything else.

List!

2011-08-30T16:32:00.000-04:00

This is fun. Much as I've admitted to liking Lev Grossman's books I don't think I've ever read any of his reviews greater than what is printed on the back of a book as a blurb. I did laugh, smile, roll my eyes, 'wink' when I came across The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, not due to the quality of the book rather Grossman's literary ties with Narnia. All things considered, Times' list of 100 Best Novels was rather standard fair.

I don't read enough non-fiction to comment on this one.

I can't imagine there is much value to these kinds of list outside of those who only read a handful of books a year, but they are still fun to look at.

The Magician King by Lev Grossman

2011-08-27T14:12:00.000-04:00

Things pick up in this sequel to Grossman's 2009 The Magicians more or less where we would expect them to. We find our once Earthbound Fillorian royalty rather well adjusted, fatter and even lazier, and though it may be hard to believe, they are just as bored with being a master magician in Fillory as they were on Earth.

Quentin, the main character of both The Magicians and The Magician King is still somewhat plagued by his inability to be happy. It's not that the life of luxury isn't for him, rather he feels there should be something more to his existence. Oddly, he declines the first adventure that presents itself to him organically in favor or one of his own making. His own quest eventually leads him to find the seven golden keys that wind up the world.

In many regards, I found The Magician King to be stronger than it's predecessor. The purpose was stated much soon even if it isn't until much later that reasons why are given. Quentin has also grown up… kinda. Much of the emo angsty stuff that caused me to roll my eyes in the first book is gone, and with it, I can admit, many of the engaging and fun relationship drama that characters became wrapped up in. The only real character development of interest comes from Julia, the book's co-star.

After events in Fillory get underway the book's structure alternates between current events and filling in the gaps of Julia's life while the other magicians Kings and Queen were at Brakebills. We learn how she got her education, the seedy magical underworld, it's members, organization and purpose. I have to be honest and say I grew to dread these sections. They were always very interesting and helped establish Julia to the same extent the others were established in the previous book. However, these sections also had nothing to do with the story at hand until the closing pages. As we had already seen the structured magical education one can receive in the first book I thought the idea of showing the polar opposite was great. Furthermore, I think there is more room to develop what Grossman has already laid down. I do wish he would have explored and developed this idea elsewhere. As in another book or series.

Grossman is still funny though it comes at a cost. There is the free flowing dialogue that sounds like my friends and I talking as we do at a bar only the subject matter isn't about the Braves and beer rather a magical world and dragons. The books speech felt real and organic to me. Much of the prose is also jammed full of pop culture references and good and bad jokes alike (and more fantasy fiction literary allusions than even the author is probably aware of). The prose is also humorous but to me it felt a bit more force and unnatural; like a comic working too hard for a joke that was never that funny to begin with.

Grossman is relentless in his mocking praise of fantasy fiction. My favorite comment came at the expense--or is it homage?--of the Eru Ilúvatar, the creator of all things in Tolkien's world. While he twist and contorts fantasy troupes he has in each of his books embraced one that makes me want to roll my eyes or throw up my lunch. After certain events in The Magicians when Quentin's hair turns white I almost put the book down. I'll give nothing away as to what fantasy troupe Grossman welcomes in The Magician King but beware the comments (should there be any). I will say not only does this particular fantasy troupe need to die, but I was shocked at the jokes being made only seconds after it happened. I know it's only a book and Julia isn't the most likable person to begin with but damn…

The ending will be bittersweet for many, if not an outright point of contention. It put me into a rage. Days after having finished the book I can appreciate the disturbing logicality of the conclusion and applaud the author's efforts. His characters are just as compelling and unlikable as before. And the knockoff Narnia elements can't get any higher. The Magicians and The Magician King are still my favorite two books to hate. I can't wait for the next one.

Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman

2011-08-25T22:50:00.003-04:00

"Then let me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can't help but live as though we've got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. But there's only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there's sorrow. I don't envy the pain. But I envy you the pain." Page 225

It's more than a bit intimidating… picking up this book for the first time. The back cover informed me of no less than five top honors won in 2007. There are heavy expectations with a novel as this and plenty of room for disappointment.

Seventeen year-old Elio and his family are settling in for the summer at their mansion in the Italian Riviera. As is their custom, since Elio's father is a prominent university scholar, they host a visiting scholar from abroad for three months. Oliver, the 'muvi star' as the locals call him is this year's lucky guy. He is twenty-four, American, and loved by everyone in the town of B. None more than Elio.

Elio's narration tells much about everything but himself. What we have to conclude through his discussion with others, particularly Oliver, is that he is brilliant for seventeen yet has managed to maintain the emotional ineptitude of his peers: he doesn't know how to act, think, or how to express himself. Aciman doesn't tell a story about falling in love. Elio's feelings are known right away. Rather Elio tries to explain how things got here almost as if he is defending his emotions.

There is a sensitivity in Elio's voice and I actually grew to see his character as fragile as the book went on. He is hard to describe as anything but delicate. Much of his emotional angst could be explained by his age and yet his maturity--not his being mature for his age, rather his insights and intelligence--has a awful time reconciling his actions and feelings. This is put into sharp relief when contrast with Oliver who is blunt, brash, and confident in all he does. Elio is torn by desire and lust, guilt and shame. He is walking insecurity.

Both characters sexuality isn't merely intriguing: it is all-consuming. The American 'muvi star' has no problem making friends, acquaintances, and lovers in a beautiful summer in the Italian Riviera. Nor does Elio, despite his age, inexperience and hormones, struggle to find the affections of women his age. They both flirt with women. They both make love with women. They both conduct themselves in manner that is completely in line with who they are. It's all a ruse. A guise to cover what they want from each other. One of Aciman's particular strengths is conveying the attractiveness of Elio and Oliver without ever giving the smallest inclination as to what they look like. We know more of Oliver's clothing and Elio's artistic interest than we do concrete physical descriptions of what they look like. Each reader is allowed to envision them as they will; and each reader will be correct.

The book's title is a concept that defines Elio's and Oliver's relationship. While the words "Call me by your name," are spoken more than once it is more than the silly gesture that it seems. Elio and Oliver are one and the same person: likes, dislikes, interest, passions; there is nothing they don't share. Elio wants to wear Oliver's bathing suits, his shirt, to sleep in his bed to--quite literally, wear his skin and be inside of him. Again I say that is not a metaphor ( well, not really ) this is Elio's most dear desire. The only thing more disturbing than Elio's obsession, and there is no other word for his feelings, is Oliver's reciprocation. This wanting to be the other person culminates in the phrase "Call me by your name." 'I am you and you are me.' While I'm confusing pronouns, I assure you Aciman gives new, near disturbing beauty to the phrase, "I want you inside of me."

"He was my secret conduit to myself--like a catalyst that allows us to become who we are, the foreign body, the pacer, the graft, the patch that sends all the right impulses, the steel pin that keeps a soldiers' bone together, the other man's heart that makes us more us than we were before the transplant." Page 143

If I had a point of contention with the novel--and I don't--it would be the title. "Call me by your name," means so much more than just the words to the characters: the phrase is the embodiment of an idea; and expresses far more power than, "I love you." I felt that when the line was used in the book it was almost robbed of some, though not much, of it's power just by the reader already being familiar with the title and not understanding it's meaning.

The summer the two spend together is exactly ninety days. A little, way too much, and not a lot can happen in that span of time. I'll shake Aciman's hand, give him a hug and kiss in congratulations for writing the only believable "years after" moment in any book I've ever read. The power of this relationship goes far beyond the physical and time itself seems unable to exhaust Elio and Oliver's feelings.

The narration is raw, delicate, susceptible to bruising, and probably more honest than any reader would be comfortable reading. It is equally convincing in its veracity, vicious lack of subtly, and relentless brooding. This is some of the most beautiful prose and use of language you will come across. If ever there needed to be an argument made for literature being art, here is my evidence. Upon completion of the book, the same back cover doesn't have so much clout; for once, all the critics got it right…

What I'm reading and not writing about

2011-08-23T16:54:00.000-04:00

There are strong chances that August 2011 will go down as my best month in reading ever; and the month isn't even done yet. That said, I've been having a hard time telling people why what I've been reading is so amazing. I've tried and fail to write commentary for Great House by Nicole Krauss three times. I've since given up; I'm determined that it will be easier to do upon re-reading. Weeks after finishing Great House I am still learning new things. It's tough making concise quasi-intelligent remarks about a book where so little happens, and no, I don't mean that in a bad way. I will say, regardless of what the author may think (I'll ask her in November at a signing), I roll my eyes every time I see a review for the book that says, "It's about a desk..."

With Krauss, my main problem in not being able to write a half-decent commentary was how much I enjoyed the book. I wasn't ever, for a second, thinking of stopping to take notes. Her truly spellbinding way with prose held me awe. Bathroom breaks were planned before or after reading. The phone was turned off, not merely put on silent. I recall at least two skipped meals while reading Great House. Horrible I know...

I also enjoyed The Magician King a great deal. Unlike Great House, lack of commentary for Lev Grossman's latest can only be blamed on me being a lazy ass. It happens... I will get around to it before his author event in town next week, or at least that is my goal. As with The Magicians, I have a lot to say.

Call me by your name might just be the most beautiful thing committed to paper. When I finish I'll have more to say on this gorgeous book by Andre Aciman. For now, suffice it to say: Go. Read. It. Now.

I've also yet to finish Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey. I'm about a third of the way in thus far and more than anything else read this month, boy do I ever have some things to say about this one. It's massive and books this size, 900+ pages, always present problems for me.

I may get to and through The Tiger's Wife as well which would probably be in lieu of plowing through more pages of Carey. We'll see.

So fear not; I've fallen off the blogging horse but things in my most interesting life of reading are still happening. More to come soon (-ish).

The National Book Award 2010

2011-08-08T11:39:00.000-04:00

I'm calling shenanigans; blindly. I finished Great House by Nicole Krauss the other day and without having read any of the other finalist for 2010 I can say the panel got the it wrong. I'm done being silly now. Great House was amazing and if nothing else completing it will urge me to read Lord of Misrule by Jaimy Gordon; the winner of the 2010 National Book Award.

Great House was delicious. Sex with butter and chocolate might come close; or something like that... It almost demands a re-read before commentary. And so I'll fault Krauss for starting my, "To Be Re-Read List." As if I don't have enough books to read for the first time. There will be a few others on the list as well however, Great House will occupy a unique space encompassing a re-reading for both pleasure and comprehension.

Lord of Misrule has a lot to overcome.

The month in Review and of Things to Come Part II

2011-07-31T22:16:00.000-04:00

Oops...

Somethings I forgot to initially share...

In light of Borders going all-the-way-out-of business, has anyone been to a Barnes and Noble lately? Because wow, have they ever expanded their sales product line... They have games, and stuff, gifts and junk that is anything but a book; I don't fault them. Do what you gotta do to survive I guess. (MORE BARGAIN BOOKS!)

I bought three books this month; sorry... The already reviewed, The Painter of Battles by Arturo Pérez-Reverte, The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt which shares an unfortunate title with a modest Tom Cruise movie, and The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz. They were all at four dollars or less, so it was kinda okay for me to be buying books... Kinda.

That's all. No more. I promise.

The month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-07-31T16:45:00.000-04:00

July has been a very good reading month. I finished Dreamsongs Volume II by George R.R. Martin, How to read a poem and fall in love with poetry by Howard Hirsch, The Hammer by K.J. Parker and The Painter of Battles by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. How's that list for diversity? I've also started and hope to soon be finished with Nicole Krauss' Great House, expect me to mention this book a lot come the end of the year…

Looking forward to August's reading I have a huge birthday gift from my interwebs best friend forever for life for right now in Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey. It's massive and will be a nice challenge to get through by the time my pre-ordered copy of The Magician Kings by Lev Grossman arrives. I used reward points to get a free copy of The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht. Finishing Great House and the three others should keep me busy.

I went to a small beer tasting for my birthday where I had Koningshoeven's Dubbel. It may be the best trappist ale there is, and considering the competition that is really saying something. It's rich, light oh so flavor and lingers on the palette long after you've taken a sip. I think it is now being called "La Trappe" in the States for reasons unknown to me.

A rather boring month all in all; not much to say. It's still hot as hell.

The Painter of Battles by Arturo Pérez-Reverte

2011-07-28T22:37:00.001-04:00

"A clever photographer, someone had once said, could photograph anything well. But Faulques knew that whoever said that had never been in a war zone. It was impossible to photograph the danger, or the guilt. The sound of a bullet as it bursts a skull. The laugh of a man who has just won seven cigarettes by betting on whether the fetus of the woman he just disemboweled with his bayonet is male or female…. No one brushed the dust off a cadaver." Page 198

My previous reading of Pérez-Reverte hadn't prepared me for The Painter of Battles. This is easily the most introspective and intimate work by the author I've come across. There is none of the colorful florid language of his historical fiction nor any of the guile and plot cunning that he displays in his contemporary thrillers. The Painter of Battles explores, life and death, the meaning of both, art, and a very close examination of morals under extreme duress.

Andrés Faulques was a war photojournalist. After a long and successful career he has retired and committed himself to painting a mural and never again photographing what is essentially humanity as it's worst. Ivo Markovic is the subject, or perhaps 'victim' of one of Faulques best known pictures. His face becomes recognizable all over the world, and his life is absolutely ruined because of it. After much time has passed since Faulques takes the photo, Markovic tracks Faulques down and the two talk of many things.

Markovic blames Faulques for many of his actions, and sometimes his inability to act. Faulques embraces the impending doom of fatalism and preordained law while Markovic will not be shaken from his position that everything is guided by choice. Their battle of words and minds plays out by way of stories of Markovic from his time at war and in remembrances of Olivdo Ferrera, Faulques lost lover. Both men learn a lot from each other in a short time and though there relationship seems odd once each learn of the others intentions somehow things work. It is not the intense verbal sparring and witty repartee of modern minds. In fact, very few are ideas presented are definitively refuted. The concepts brought up and how they are dealt with are slow in developing and demand a good bit of thought.

The author was a war corespondent and while I'm sure he was drawing heavily from his own experiences I was also reminded of the late Kevin Carter and his photo documentation of South African execution by necklacing. Markovic would say by positioning himself for the perfect shot, for the sake of art, instead of acting out in a manner that might prevent whatever atrocity he was about to photograph that Faulques was a good as perpetrating the crime. Faulques would say while he was on the job in a war zone, he was as good as not there. Merely an impartial eye to take pictures for what happened for the world to see; it was not his job to be involved in what was going on around him.

The narration is cold and distant and completely at odds with the peculiar terms of friendship that govern interaction with Faulques and Markovic. It works brilliantly. Ideas are dwelt on for long periods of time. Paragraphs span pages. As such this short, two-hundred page book you thought you'd finish in a weekend turns out to be wonderfully dense with no fluff to skim over and much time need to fully absorb what is given.

Pérez-Reverte has a unique presentation in this novel where much of what you would swear is spoken dialogue, isn't. Not merely the past recollections of Olvido's life but even exchanges between Faulques and Markovic that are happening in 'real time' he writes as prose and not dialogue further enhancing the narrative distance of the story and it's characters. Such distance is necessary considering the deaths described and the graphic situations that many are made to live through in The Painter of Battles.

If I had to say there was a weakness, and I admit to reaching pretty far in pointing this out, it is in the description of Faulques' photographs. 'A picture is worth a thousand words,' and when those words had to be committed to paper in a novel for the many various photographs Faulques took it certainly slows things down in a novel where the pacing is already deliberately controlled. This spelling of pictures out is necessary as it adds realism, gravitas, and ultimately fuel to Markovic's fire concerning Faulques' life.

It is almost against my own volition that I felt satisfied by the ending: I didn't once roll my eyes. I miss the florid beautiful prose of Pérez-Reverte's Captain Alatriste series and the fast pace whodunnit-ness of his thrillers, however, I'll welcome this slow, methodical, melancholy from him anytime he chooses to write in this style. I can say with some feeling of certainly that The Painter of Battles may never be his most popular book, but I'll also make the case that it may be his most powerful.

The Hammer by K. J. Parker

2011-07-22T23:08:00.001-04:00

On the surface level, The Hammer feels like a novel. There are characters, backstory, and the framework for tension, but events never seem to become anything more than an outline. It is as if the passage from concept to meaningful, fully-fledged, weighty production never happened, or perhaps such a change happens only it didn't have a chance to mature. I struggled getting through this novel and only did so out of past enjoyment of the authors Purple and Black and Blue and Gold.

So there is a "Colony" a "Company" and an oft mentioned "Home." Oh, and there are also some "Savages…" None of which are ever given proper names a la real life which serves to facilitate my feelings of the book being an elaborate concept. These 'place-holder' names don't have much depth and they seem to be mentioned in the same superficial way you may tell a story to a friend and reference, "that guy at the bar." The 'Company' has a monopoly on all goods used, bought and sold on the "Colony." The colonist pay rent the 'Home' government by way of cattle. There is an out of favor high and once mighty family the met'Oc (I've long since had a dislike for the author's naming conventions) who live on the Colony. They occupy a space marked by near destitution, yet able to inspire fear to all the colonist because one of the met'Oc boys occasionally plays the part of a dangerous lunatic. They are also the only people in the colony with weapons of any sort: swords, and a brace of pistols.

I had a hard time taking any of the characters seriously and though the better part of book deals with Gignomai met'Oc--yes that is his name--he was the most unrealistic of them all. Gig, as he is called, doesn't much like his family and runs away to the other side of the colony which is still within spitting distance of his family. He then decides to start a bloodless revolution against Home and the Company's monopoly by building a factory so the colonist can provide for themselves. Main character or not Gig is as substantial as "that guy at the bar:" a cheap vehicle for a shallow soon-to-be-forgotten anecdote.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, Parker introduces a measure of tension. Things aren't what they seem, motives aren't as they have been stated, and apparently there is a killer inside us all. There are social problems with the met'Oc and the rest of the colonist and eventually we learn of a very twisted family history. The major plot points and revelations felt weak and more like a "hail Mary" pass in an attempt to redeem the previous three-hundred pages of strong, yet unrealized, ideas.

Parker excels in the small exchanges. The one on one conversations where thought or ideas are discussed between characters of conflicting interest are wonderful. These moment are to infrequent and don't have enough bearing on the primary plot to warrant a recommendation to read the book. Previously I had thought Parker to be synonymous with awesome; now I'll proceed with caution concerning any further books by the author that stray from the color-wheel.

Get your music out of my fiction

2011-07-18T20:47:00.001-04:00

I try so hard to keep real life out of blogging, but I can't hold back any longer. I'm not a musicologist nor do I have a DMA. A meager bachelor's and master's degree in piano performance. Outside of a very high proficiency in being able to play the instrument I also had to take many classes that I will sum up as "How western classical music came to be, and how it works."

Good writers do research on the topics they choose to write about. If your main character is a surgeon and you plan on talking about surgery in the book, you have to write convincingly enough as to be realistic to any surgeons who enjoys fiction and may pick up your book. It's a matter of credibility, hence the research.

Music seems to occupy a unique space when it comes to writers: it's not so esoteric as surgery--after all who hasn't had piano lessons and if you can play open chords on the guitar then yes, you can perform damn-near every song by Bob Dylan--but the auto-didactics armed with a superficial amount of knowledge or those who took 'singing lessons' from that old lady in the church choir are really starting to get on my nerves. I wish, I truly wish, I had kept a log of all the offenders I've come across in the past year's worth of reading.

Perhaps it is because music is such a basic and integral part in so many peoples lives, but whatever the reasons, far too many authors indulge in overwrought, self-indulgent, and more often than not, erroneous analogies and metaphors that may sound nice and poetic, but to one who knows can kill the prose and story being told faster than the sixteenth notes of an Allegro or faster Chopin etude. (See? Even when a likeness if properly made, it's still obnoxious… or at least to me it is.)

I'm happy that so many writers, at least in my reading, seem to make mention of sonata allegro form, rondeau, or a baroque French overture, but if you should feel the need to dwell on these topics make sure you are studying up on the matter to the same degree you would if you were talking about what it takes to get a space shuttle into orbit and not merely relying on those band or orchestral lessons from seventh grade.

I think I'll keep my log of offending writers ( and critics and bloggers ) in my head as to not have a concrete list of negativity. The words already printed can't be taken back but there is hope for new writers! Heed my words! Know what you are talking about before you commit the crime of ignorance in your novel. Such a crime not only makes me mildly angry, but also speaks to your quality as a writer. So next time you are feeling the urge to make an analogy about your characters in fugue or hexachordal combinatoriality, unless you really know what you're talking about; don't.

Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake

2011-07-11T19:50:00.002-04:00

"Nannie Slagg entered, bearing in her arms the heir to the miles of rambling stone and mortar; to the Tower of Flints and the stagnant moat; to the angular mountains and the lime-green river where twelve years later he would be angling for the hideous fishes of his inheritance." (page 43 of the Overlook Press Omnibus)

Titus Groan is the newly born seventy-seventh Earl of Gormenghast. The novel bearing his name is more about the world he is born into rather than about Titus himself. Gormenghast is everything and there is nothing but Gormenghast. The reader must come to understand this before anything else and as such Titus Groan, is a complete and very successful novel on its own. It does, however, feel like a wonderfully patient--and wholly necessary--introduction to what will become the story of Titus' life.

I choose the above quotation not as an example of the Peake's finest prose rather it encompasses two traits that I found at the heart of the story: enormity of, well, everything, and decay. Gormenghast is the name of the castle of The House of Groan. It is the name of the mountains, the lake, and the surrounding land. In Titus Groan, there is nowhere else, but Gormenghast. Rather than to suppose that the novel takes place in a very small area the opposite is what the reader comes to find. Gormenghast, world without end, is everything and as best we know there is nothing else. Needless to say, the concept takes some getting used to. Our first encounter with this truth is through the character Steerpike who by a series of curious events finds himself on the exterior of the castle, not outside of it, merely on an outside roof.

"He saw spread out before him in mountainous facades a crumbling panorama, a roofscape of Gormenghast, it's crags and its stark walls of cliff, pocked with nameless windows. Steerpike for a moment lost heart, finding himself in a region as barren as the moon, and he became suddenly desperate in his weakness, and falling on his knees retched violently." pg 104

His efforts to escape the confines that he had only moment before found literally suffocating only yield greater physical discontent and greater weakening of his physical constitution: decay. Later, we hear the word 'roofscape' replaced with 'castlescape' so large is Gormenghast that from a high vantage point on the outside of the castle nothing could be seen in a given direction that wasn't the castle. The 'crumbling panorama' and 'cliff, pocked with nameless windows' that induce Steerpike to vomit bring about the other inescapable point of Gormenghast, everything is in an advanced, yet leisurely, state of decay. Though the rot of Gormenghast may in fact be advanced the castle is alive and in many regards thriving. It is described as 'breathing' and being 'sentient.' Buildings 'grow' from pre-existing buildings in Gormenghast as do branches from a tree.

In a castle of such size there is always some manner of maintenance to be done. Everywhere there are piles of rubble and seasoned lumber scattered about in equal amount. Of more interest than the castles upkeep or as the status quo would have it, degradation (remember 'stagnant moat' and 'lime-green rivers') is its inhabitants and their mental states that are given Peake's primary attention.

Flay is chief servant in all of Gormenghast castle and attendant to Sepulchrave, the current Earl. Though his dimensions are never given we come to see him as impossibly tall. His knees are falling apart under the weight of his height and make a hideous loudly audible sound as he moves. He speaks in a very distinct short hand of his own device as though the effort of talking has become come too burdensome itself in Gormenghast. (I'm inclined to agree with him.) He is slow and deliberate in all that he does and we are given to think he has not had a change of clothing since he was first appointed his post. Yet he proves to be a patchwork of blind loyalty capable of startling (and original!) violence. ("Cats as missiles," Steerpike recalls.) Other castle servants include an obese chef, Swelter, who seems so large in fact as to be near splitting open, a nurse who is a midget, Nannie Slagg, and a master of ceremonies who has lost a leg in service to the castle and enjoys spitting on people. Dr Prunesquallor is the sole exception of abnormality in the servants of Gormenghast as he seems to make a conscious effort to hide his intelligence, ironically done by talking down to all the other servants, as to better understand his surroundings and be of greatest use. The castle's most grotesque inhabitants and those that embody and mirror Gormenghast the best are none other than the royal family.

Sepulchrave seems detached, smart, and altogether normal. His fall into depravity is marked by a very powerful calamity one even stronger than the birth of his son and heir. Sepulchrave has twin sisters of a very uncertain mental stability. To say they are slow-witted is an offense to Forrest Gump. They were never given a place of prominence nor was anything ever expected of them because of their mental facility. What they have learned in their seclusion is a lust for power. They feel they have been displaced by Gertrude Sepulchrave's wife. They have no ability to think for themselves, and the ease in which they can be manipulated proves to be a point that Sepulchrave will have sorely regretted overlooking. Gertrude spends her days talking to birds and dealing with an exceptionally large host of white cats. To say she is disturbing is a vast understatement, but she also has powerful moments of clarity and insight. Fuchsia, Titus' sister is something of a work in progress. She is fifteen and given to all the vagaries of being a teenager. Yet just when we are at our most certain of her family's genetic trait of madness manifesting itself she is capable of displaying--like her mother--clarity of vision, insight, and can shed her cloak of nonsense with ease and astonishing power.

Titus Groan may have a certain aural attribute that makes it a more fitting title that Streepike, but if the title is supposed to reflect upon who or what the book is about, then Steerpike would have been a much better choice. He is seventeen at the novel's start and in the service of the kitchen. From this most abjectly base position he becomes the kiss-ass of the castle; doing small favors for people of importance and slowly but surely earning favor in return. He is devious, manipulative and wholly self-serving. By the book's end he sets himself up to be quite possibly the most powerful person in Gormenghast. Everyone in all of Gormenghast accepts and deals with their lot from The Grey Scrubbers who clean the kitchen to Sepulchrave King and Commander. Everyone but Steerpike, he doesn't belong. He wants something more; something better for himself. Fuchsia puts it best:

"Behind him (Steerpike) she saw something which by contrast with the alien, incalculable figure before her, was close and real. It was something which she understood, something which she could never do without, or be without, for it seemed as though it were her own self, her own body at which she gazed and which lay so intimately upon the skyline. Gormenghast. The long, notched outline of her home. It was now his background. It was a screen of walls and towers pocked with windows. He stood against it, an intruder, imposing himself so vividly, so solidly, against her world, his head overtopping the loftiest of its towers." pg 213

For all of it's personalities and grotesque decay there is a sense of pride and belonging instilled in everyone in Gormenghast. It's home--even to Steerpike--it is where everyone wants to be. The Groan family is "of the blood" and that means something to all though it is never explicitly detailed to the reader. There is no leaving, there is no starting over somewhere else, and that is because everything is Gormenghast. The servants seem to deal with the gravitas that is Gormenghast by drinking in excess while the Groan family indulges in more laudanum than is strictly necessary.

Readers of the book may note that there is one major character I've yet to mention: Keda; Titus' wet-nurse. I'm not sure if I'm writing a book review or a literary criticism (it's a sorry attempt at either, I admit) and to that end I'll excuse myself from saying anything more than this: even more than Steerpike, Keda does not belong in Gormenghast. Beyond that I'll let readers decide for themselves what to make of the who I would deem the character who 'stole the show.'

The story takes place in less than two years and ends with Titus' coronation--as a toddler--as Earl of Gormenghast. If you think you've read a book about aristocracy living a typical life of leisure in an immense castle you haven't read Titus Groan. It's not the kind of originality that took effort and feels well conceived rather the story is told from a direction of story events that no one else considered going in. That alone makes things fresh enough. It's a huge book, and just the beginning, but I am looking forward to how things grow larger and fall apart at more profound depths in the next installment.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-07-02T14:34:00.000-04:00

The summer is fully upon us. The April and May anomalies of 90+ degree heat have given way to the expectation of sweating in the shade. The reality is worse but that's enough talk of the weather.

My blogging activity took a massive nosedive in June and yet my stat tracker says my blog has never before seen such activity. Even more surprising, June marked the first month that my review of Easton Press Books was dethroned as the most widely read entry on my blog. The usurper was Kathleen Winter's Annabel by a factor of three at that. Activity for Annabel included four variant spellings of the author's name and one query asking if it was a true story. This information is more banal that most I share on my blog, but for some reason it amuses me.

My slower-than-last-year reading trend is holding true. I got through three books this month; all of which were fabulous. Stories of your life and Others by Ted Chaing, Lavinia by Urusla K Le Guin, and Titus Groan by Mervye Peake. I owe a review for the latter. It's coming... June's meager reading is thus far a front runner for taking all the 'Year's Best' awards. This month's reading also put into sharp relief why I don't mind being behind the current reading trends.

My 'to be read' stack is somewhere between 50-60 books. Only one of which was printed this year. I can't thank enough all the readers, reviewers and bloggers out there who sift through stacks of ARC's of varying quality only to infrequently find something substantial. I'm impressed by the quality of my own reading if I may say so. There have been duds to be sure, but all-in-all not being the first to read this week's latest and greatest has really helped me find and focus on what stands out and why, sometimes years past a books initial publication.

I'll find another door stopper for July and I also plan to hunt my selves for some 'lighter and easier' reading material than the 'dense and heavy' stuff I've been doing as of late. Perhaps I'm being a wuss but whatever.

Apropos of nothing, I know two people who read what I thought to be the best piece of fiction my eyes came across last year, The Local News by Miriam Gershow. My father--who brought the author to my attention--thought it was one of the best pieces of fiction he had read that he didn't care for in the least. I agreed with him that the tone is not for everyone; I was happy to see we both found the quality beyond dispute. Maria had some pleasant things to say for it as well, which perhaps redeems the past near clunker I recommended her.

As for July, I've got a lot of time on my hands and not much to do so I'll try not to get into too much trouble. No promises.

Preliminary Praise

2011-06-20T17:25:00.000-04:00

First off, 'preliminary' looks funny and without spell check there is no hope for me ever spelling it correctly.

So I'm reading Titus Groan, the first book of the Gormenghast trilogy. I knew I would like this book for reasons I can't express. It's awesome and has been better than every expectation I had. I'm only a hundred pages in and can't even begin to guess at the level of awesome the next three-hundred will hold--or where there story is going for that matter.

I'm going to break one of my self-imposed blogging rules and upon the books completion leave a commentary. It goes against my 'don't rave about dead authors of the classics' rule, but I'm willing to look the other way concerning my own infraction. I could be wrong, but I feel that Mervyn Peake's name isn't as well known as it should be, but beyond that I'm not going to justify my rule breaking.

Put this one on the bucket list: hell just go to your library and get a copy. Now. You will not be sorry.

Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chiang

2011-06-19T13:49:00.001-04:00

I have a very poor concept of what is science fiction. It is ironic considering I think the vast majority of everything written is some form of fantasy hiding behind a multitude of guises. Aliens, outer-space, interstellar warfare, Starwars: that's what immediately comes to mind when I think of science fiction. I know I'm wrong (and shallow), but for me those elements are such a turn off and have left such an impression that I mistakenly pan the whole genre. Stories of Your Life and Others is marked as science fiction and all the praise on the back and inside of the book seems to mention the genre as well. I didn't read a single one of the stories included as science fiction. They all made me think and forced the use of my imagination. Perhaps my definition of fantasy is so all encompassing that science fiction has become part of the meld. I now feel I've done my due diligence with this up front disclaimer concerning myself and the genre.

The best stories in this collection share a feeling of plausibility and those that aren't quite as strong as the best still manage to impart, at minimum, a powerful verisimilitude of profundity. I would describe Chiang as a confident writer, one who thoroughly believes in his abilities and has achieved an uncanny measure of erudition in the medium he has chosen to work in. His success in achieving an almost instantaneous acceptance in whatever we should deem, 'fantastic' has to do with the immediacy he brings up a topic, the nonchalant manner in which it is mentioned, and most importantly in how the incredible or unrealistic isn't dwelled on: the characters involved believe in whatever the issue is and move on. So does the reader. Instead of trying to invest the reader in what is fantastic or making them 'buy into' the premise he just moves on; stating the issue as fact and never looking back. It works.

From the most scientific (Seventy-Two Letters) to the least (Tower of Babylon), more than a character or setting Chiang writes about ideas. There is a certain amount of active reader participation that he demands. That is not to say his writing is difficult but you do have to be willing to impart some of your own brain power to fully enjoy what he is trying to write about. Every story in the collection embraces the idea of 'what if…' and then ask the reader to think things through morally, problematically, socially sometimes even religiously. Chiang is always there to guide us with suggestions for new lines of thought and more often than not takes definitive measures for the sake of the narrative.

Understand is about about a man who experiences severe brain damage after a traumatic accident that left him in a coma. He is given an experimental growth hormone treatment that proves to re-grow previously damaged parts of his brain. Is that really too far fetched to believe? Division by Zero is about a fundamental truth that a woman discovers that upends everything known about mathematics and a good deal of the fundamentals thought to be natural law. The story is also of her slow decent into madness as only she and a handful of others can fully comprehend what she has discovered. These stories illustrate Chiang's ability to suggest to all readers what is left undiscovered in our world: a simple--plausible--'what if' developed logically, or perhaps it is proper to say 'scientifically' into a narrative. Despite all the examples and proofs offered to support his premises all of his stories have a very humane element to them.

Hell is the Absence of God deals with the most basic of storytelling elements that never fail to arouse interest: the afterlife, and the mysterious ways of God's existence (in this particular story there definitively is a God). Though all of the stories here are independent of one another, if there were a unifying element it could be argued that many share a strong theme of personal decay or degradation unto the point of loss though not always death where an individual gains a new perspective by way of Pyrrhic achievement as in The Tower of Babylon, Understand, Division by Zero and Story of your Life.

As introspective as Chiang's characters seem to be, I feel he was at his strongest in the concluding story, Liking what you see: A Documentary, where there isn't a central character as in standard storytelling rather a host of vignettes from multiple outlets. Calliagnosia is the ability to turn off facial recognition features that people define as attractive or not-so-much. We hear thoughts from different age groups and perspectives and by the end you shouldn't be surprised to find yourself debating the merits and flaws of completely made up cosmetic treatment.

I had no expectations going into this book as I had previously only read one story by the author that was not collected here. (Too many times have I been led astray by one amazing story to a collection of FAIL, but such is not the case with Chiang.) Upon finishing the book I still have no clear definition of science fiction, though I think I like the trendy, internet, hipster term 'speculative fiction' as it seems incongruously both more general and specific. However you want to brand Ted Chiang or his writing he should be thought of as a writer whose works are not only seminal for his 'genre' but necessary reading to further the quality of all others.

Some thoughts on Unsound Variation by George R R Martin From Dreamsongs Volume II

2011-06-06T23:13:00.002-04:00

If ever there were a story that exposed my deficiencies as a reader this would be it. After completing this story, and ultimately being wrong about every warning sign I interpreted as impending fail, I think I will have to re-evaluate how I read which is simultaneously a refreshing and scary thought.

Four friends from a decade past chess team, the B team at that, at the University of Northwestern reunite under absolutely no pretense at all. They haven't kept in touch over the years nor were they particularly close back in the day. An invitation is extended and they all inexplicably decide to attend. ( And we are all aware of the horror of these kinds of reunions…) The host, Bunnish, is the only one of the four to be met with any kind of success in life and has become exorbitantly wealthy dealing in electronics. Delmario, has had brilliant ideas, but always beaten to the punch by Bunnish and now has only alcohol to keep him company. E.C. Stuart has had every sound business decision he has ever made work against him and now revels in a life of mediocrity. And Peter has suffered a life of failure in every creative endeavor he has ever pursued.

At the heart of Bunnish's success and everyone else's failure is a chess game. In particular a game that Bunnish lost in what would have been a colossal upset of the University of Chicago's "A" team. Bunnish has played beautifully and to all eyes in the tournament has the game won. Nonetheless, he finds a way to lose. Then he, logically, becomes a psychopath….

Using a time travel machine of his own device (roll your eyes here) Bunnish has successfully ruined the lives of his three teammate and the person at UC who beat him. Apparently, he never once has considered going back to alter the game so that he might win.

It starts with what I thought an inane character and host of repetitious backstory. Oh the tedium. Peter's wife is the nagging harridan who by way of the author's skill in depicting her annoyed the hell out of me. We watch Peter set himself up for her verbal abuse while they drive up to Bunnish's mansion. He sets 'em up; she knocks 'em down. Peter: open mouth, insert foot. It goes on and on. Through this tedium we get backstory and a slightly manic desire to choke a fictional character. I had written her off to the point that, when she later suggest the only reasonable course of action, and what was to me the redeeming point of the story, in accepting this future it came as a great surprise. I didn't expect, nor can I imagine other readers would, the bitch of time to be the voice of reason and wisdom.

The time travel (I feel like it is always a horrible story mechanic), repetition, and the slightly esoteric nature of chess all paled once Bunnish unleashed his devious plan: he wants to play famous game of chess against each of his teammates from the point it was deemed he had the game won to show that there was no way to win. I almost skipped the remainder of the story when Delmario was the first to play, and his game with Bunnish got serious attention to detail, lots of chess explanation, and intimate emotional content. I said to myself, "I've got to go through this two more times!" Thinking that those two more times had to be even more intense than Delmario's experience to resonate with readers. Boy was I wrong. Martin knows what he is doing. Stuart's game was super short and Peter declined to play--and in doing so, 'won.' Each of their experiences in play against Bunnish was shorter than the previous player's.

I feel I was predisposed to dislike this story even though everything I thought to be a pitfall turned out to be a strength. It's not my favorite story in the collection, to be as objective as I can I think it's the weakest inclusion I've coming across thus far, that said, it was solid, only not for me. If nothing else it showed me that it may not hurt to turn off my analytical side while reading and simply enjoy what is given.

Easier said than done, but I'll work on it.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-06-01T13:47:00.001-04:00

It's been a long month. Thirty-one days. It has also been an unproductive and terribly depressing month, but fear not. I won't bore you with the minutiae of my life; well, no more than I usually do.

The East Atlanta Beer Festival was easily the high point. Fifty-seven beer producers and one hundred forty something different beers. It was also the low point in the month, as I ended up going alone, unable to convince any of my friends to go out on a Saturday afternoon and drink beer (A much tougher sell that I would have thought!). Either I'm old, or we--my friends, and I--are old. Regardless of the truth, I'm telling myself that everyone else is old and I remain unchanged...

In such a long month and with so much underemployment you would think I'd recount how much reading I've gotten done, and you would be very very wrong. I read The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen and Dancing with Bears by Michael Swanwick. I also read about three hundred pages worth of short stories from George R R Martin's Dreamsongs Volume II. So I got a door stopper in this month and that's good, I failed to leave comments for anything let alone two books, and I feel no less weary for laziness. Franzen was great. Swanwick was a wonderful novel where Darger and Surplus, long running short story characters of the authors, felt forced into the narrative rather than the book being about or build around them. Martin's short stories were exactly what I needed to be reading at that specific point in time. And I'll have more to say about one of them in a day or so.

I've no expectations of June. I'm taking a hiatus from assigning myself books to read in a given time period seeing how poorly I failed in May. That said, I have a stack of books, I'd like to get through by summer's end.

The biggest, and lamest, thing to talk about for this past month is the weather. It was 71 degrees last night at 1:30am. My poor air conditioning unit can't keep up and I'm dreading the bill. I don't complain about being hot because I've lived through winter in Chicago and I know what the wind off Lake Michigan feels like in February. I also know at what temperature below zero your breath will freeze over. I don't complain about the heat, but allow me a comment that few who haven't lived here and fully appreciate. It's hot. More specifically this heat is usually reserved for August so I'm a bit scared of what's to come.

Hoping for eternal rain in June...

Whoa!

2011-05-24T20:00:00.000-04:00

About a book a week is my average. With that number in mind, I'll say it's a feat to get a rise out of me while I'm reading: to make me laugh so hard that I have to stop reading to compose myself, repulse me to the point of squeamishness (okay, that one happens more than most) or shock me to the point of spoken expletives.

The latter happened this morning, thanks to Michael Swanwick and Dancing with Bears. I'll not give away particulars as to not spoil the moment for potential readers. There was a brief passage on faith, pleasure, suffering, heaven, hell and earthly existence. These topics were disscused against a backdrop of sex. It really got me thinking and apparently I misinterpreted the passage as much as the novel's character in question and when matters were cleared up all I could say was, " **** **** **." And laugh my way to work.

When was the last time a book got a powerful physical emotion (good or bad) from you as a reader?

Saturday Musings

2011-05-21T16:36:00.002-04:00

I'm done. I finished The Beast. Jonathan Franzen's 568 page wonder, The Corrections and it only took me twenty-one days to get here. I had decided to not leave commentary for this book before I started reading it. Having made Oprah's book club and many best of the decade list, there isn't much I can say that hasn't already been said. It comes close to my 'no speaking of dead authors of the classics' rule, but happily Franzen is alive and (I hope) in good health, and able to provide us with many more ridiculous awesome offerings.

That said, I'm in no hurry to get to Freedom. In order for Franzen to 'get better,' at least by my definition, he is going to have to do something substantially different. As in, write about African's and the war in Sudan type different to really make an impression on me. Perhaps Freedom is such a book, but with knowing nothing about the book and only a little about the badass writer, I don't think it is. The summation of my 'not a commentary' is this: go read The Corrections, if you've yet to do so.

A few words about my journey through this behemoth, because that is what it was: a journey. I mentioned that I was reading it to the only co-worker I have at either job that I think is capable of reading and, naturally, she had year it years ago. "How far in are you?" she asked. "Just started it. About a hundred pages or so." The strongest part of the book, that which stuck with her for nearly ten years after reading was, "There was a part about a chaise lounge chair, and a scent and a stain..." I had passed that part and all I could do was laugh. More than anything else, that is what The Corrections is to her.

She is the only flesh and blood person I know (interweb people are something different, though not lesser) who reads more than me. She knows what she likes and doesn't like. She knows what's good and what's bad and she can explain why. "That book was amazing, but the whole chair, stain, scent thing really bothered me." That comment says more about her than Franzen.

At the other job, the one where it is okay if I read, a superior said, "I've read that! This is the book with that crazy ass dysfunctional family." I replied something to the affect that the family was normal as hell, only more honest than most, and that all families probably have similar problems and issues and that 'normal' probably doesn't exist. She agreed with me. Moments later a patron saw the book and my book mark and asked, "Are you really that far into that book?" I told her yes. She was in a state akin to awe. She got about a third of the way through and then put it down due to the "mundaneness." I was not in a spot where I could comment freely, but thought to myself, if the actions in this book are mundane to you than your family must all be histrionic or worse.

My 'boss,' only commented, "That book was fucked up." I asked, "Have you read Freedom yet?" "No. The other one was too fucked up for me to read Freedom." I'm not sure what all he meant but I understood, implicitly.

I accidentally went to a bookstore today. I didn't plan this trip; it really was an accident. I was going to the East Atlanta Beer Festival and happened to park directly across from Bound to be Read Books. I heard of it before, but never really get to this part of town. Small, well lit, too many damned cats; those seem to be the traits of a used book store. Worse than going to a book store, I bought books: sorry...

I've wanted Shogun in hard back since forever and now I have it in a two volume set marked 'Atheneum." I've no clue what that means... I also bought two novels by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Autumn of the Patriarch and Love in the Time of Cholera. My gut tells me neither will be as good as his short fiction but what is?

As to the beer fest. I officially don't like IPA's but Flying Dog Raging Bitch ain't bad, and neither is Dogfish Head, 90 or 120 minute. As to the good stuff, more on that later.

It's tough having fans...

2011-05-11T09:48:00.001-04:00

I suffer no delusions that Ms Valente read my review of The Habitation of the Blessed, but if she did she wouldn't have liked it. (I used the word 'dense' albeit in a positive light. The bright side of my faux pas is that I get to drink!) I have my own misgivings on what she has said, but I'll suffice it to say perhaps she should add 'amazing' 'intelligent' 'special' and 'elite' to her list of words she'd rather reviewers not use.

Whatever happened to the old days when artist such as Beethoven could only vainly bitch and moan about being unappreciated and never reaping the full reward of their efforts? So much for 'suffering' the pain of success in silence.

The Weight

2011-05-11T09:02:00.000-04:00

It's happening and... Déjà vu. Giant books and my inability to get through them in a timely fashion. I've been doing so well this year in getting through the door-stoppers plaguing my TBR shelves, but it's always a challenge.

The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen is amazing; thus far. I barely crested the half-way mark this morning, yet I feel like I've yet to make a dent. It's an odd psychological issue I have with big books. Even when I'm enjoying what I'm reading, the visual reinforcement of my page marker and all that remains until the end nearly crushes me.

It's okay.

I can do this!

I've been through the same territory with Middlesex and even managed to read other books in the same month. Deep breaths.

Annabel by Kathleen Winter

2011-05-06T15:28:00.000-04:00

Kathleen Winter's debut novel is sensitive, uncomfortable, and feels wholly real. Believe the hype you've heard about Winter (and if you haven't heard it; then remember you heard it from me first.) Considering the subject matter, it is uncanny how quickly Winter makes readers identify with both characters and situations.

Wayne Blake is born a hermaphrodite. His parents and a close family friend are the only ones who know. A little bit of surgery, years of social conditioning, and the most masculine yet sensitive father ever, render Wayne, Wayne. He is a boy.

Labrador Canada is nearly the book's main character. It is a harsh untamed land and we see it primarily through the eyes of Wayne's parents: Treadway is a hunter and a trapper and Jacinta manages domestic affairs. Through the land and indeed both of Wayne's parents, it is hard to find much that is feminine in Wayne's surroundings. Treadway is an anachronism, and as much as he wants his son to follow in his footsteps his efforts to interest Wayne in the traditional manner that the men of Labrador make their livelihood are fruitless. Wayne can cut wood, mend fencing and identify many birds and animals at sight but he has no passion for these things.

There is an element to Wayne's upbringing that doesn't exactly feel false, but nonetheless feels wrong. Wayne is brought up to be a boy. He takes hormones to reinforce his boyhood. Yet there is this striving effort from Jacinta and Thomasina, who was at Wayne's birth and knows his true nature, to quite literally make him a girl. Jacinta reflects often on how beautiful the word 'daughter' is to her. Thomasina due to her tragic past, which is spelled out in the book's opening pages, gives Wayne a special name and in turn the novel's title. While growing up there is never a push for gender parity, but rather an undercurrent to not only acknowledge his feminine side but to live life as a girl. All of which gives way to some marvelous discussion on parenting in such a unique situation. None of it felt right to me, but all of it sure did encourage a great story.

Odd things happen at puberty when Wayne's body goes through some changes. There is more surgery, and a lot more pills and the beginning of his search for identity. There is a parallel struggle to reclaim identity in one of Wayne's friends, Wally. It was a nice subplot that was well managed as both interesting and a vehicle to push Wayne's story along.

While not the book's main characters Wayne's parents, Treadway and Jacinta were the best drawn. That they both care and love for their child is never in doubt. While Wayne struggles and has breakdowns trying to find himself, his parents do the same in an effort to accept their child without labels or trying to place him in a preconceived mould. There is some soap opera drama and I mean that in the best of ways. Out of love and concern Treadway scared me to death with his plans to do somethings I'd rather him not have done. Jacinta needed to be slapped out of malaise far too often and Thomasina, a third parental force, was so out of line from Wayne's baptism forward that I never like her for a moment. The story is very easy to become involved in and speculate as to what will happen next.

I do wish there was a bit more confrontation with Treadway and Jacinta. Their interaction was perfect and felt real, but I can't help but think if they ever wondered about having another child, or even if the topic came up, what they may have expressed to each other about Wayne. There is also a moment in the end where Wayne seems to make a 'gender doesn't matter' decision by taking some drastic measures; embracing both sides of his dual nature. I'm not sure if it was Winter's ultimate gesture of acceptance or if the act undermined all the past trials Wayne had gone through.

The ending is far from 'happily ever after' but is it ultimately very satisfying. Annabel is a linear tale that was difficult to point out exactly what the story was building toward but there was always enough tension and drama to propel events along. Excellent storytelling by a very capable writer; a very intimate and personal story that is bound to arouse thought in any sensitive reader.

Dark Mondays by Kage Baker

2011-05-05T13:10:00.002-04:00

Kage Baker is a writer I'm very familiar with. I've come across her works in themed collections, best of anthologies, and just about anywhere quality short fiction is to be found. Dark Mondays is a 2006 collection in which I was hoping to find the charming, seemingly effortless short stories that made her a name I remember. While there are high points, more often than the not, the collection is listlessly bobbing in a sea of uninteresting events.

My first contention with the collection is that the title story is in fact not in my edition of the book. It only came in the limited edition with cost $49.99; shame on me for not reading the fine print and while this is more of a gripe with the publisher, Night Shade Books, than the author my displeasure may have colored my thinking on the stories that were present.

Dark Mondays is a collection of very well written of short stories, only most of them weren't special enough in any way as to standout. "So This Guy Walks into a Lighthouse" is a great title that only yields a mildly interesting story about a man looking forward to the solitude of a lighthouse position only to be overrun by very peculiar visitors.

Few of the stories contained enough thematic material or anything that could be called plot that was worth developing and a weak premise rarely makes for interesting reading, regardless of the characters created in the story. The one hundred page long "The Maid on the Shore" proves this point better than any other. There is a great and diverse cast of pirates--two women dressed as men, a priest with psychotic breaks, gay pirates, a stereotypical 'good-guy' who has merely fallen in with the wrong crowd, and a phantasmic young woman who may or may not be real--that Baker seemingly does nothing with but make march and sail. It turns out their objective was to sack a great city in Panama, but this didn't register with me until the very end, it hardly felt climatic or worth the time it took to get there, and by the time it happened, I didn't care. With such a cast I'd hoped that Baker could do more.

Perhaps it's not coincidence that the stories that brought Baker to my attention were one where she focuses on smaller cast and the events of individuals as opposed to large groups; such as the 'Ruby Incomparable' from Wizards and 'Are you Afflicted with Dragons?' from The Dragon Book both edited by Jack Dann and Gardner Dozois. The only real standouts for me in Dark Mondays (and let me tell you how much I dislike referring to the name of this collection by a story that wasn't even included…) were 'The Two old Women' and 'Oh, False Young Man!' Both are about older women trying to reconcile something in their past. The former deals with a woman who lost her husband at sea and finds a way to conjure him back. Despite the unnatural manner of his actions and the pleadings of her family she has a very hard time giving her husband up a second time knowing they will be forever parted. 'Oh, False young man!' is a revenge story gone horribly wrong where a scientist--a very bitter, scorned lover--plots revenge with the aide of her best creation: a fully functioning human AI. She intends to marry her 'son' to the daughter of her once lover. Things don't work out and there are many lessons learned. While all these stories share treads of being more intimate and personal that is not necessarily the key to success for Baker.

'Portrait, With Flames' and "Katherine's Story' share similar elements as the better stories in the collection but with little to no action happening of any kind it is hard to push events along and harder still to keep turning pages.

While the good stories are good, neither are worth seeking out the collection solely on their account. All in all there are some very creative and wonderful ideas, only a few of them develop into something special. All the writing is well done and it certainly feels like Kage Baker; only not the really amazing Kage Baker that I'd previously come across in so many anthologies and collections. It's all well written and generally I'd consider Dark Mondays good reading. It's just not very interesting reading.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-05-01T11:01:00.000-04:00

I've been a very negligent blogger this past month. Sorry. I can't claim to have been busy, in fact I've had more free time this month than most, and that's not a good thing. In March I promised reviews of all I'd read in April. Which means I owe you my comments on Annabel Kathleen Winter and Dark Mondays by Kage Baker. They are coming...

Dancing with Bears by Michael Swanwick was my only book acquisition for the month. I actually pre-ordered, 'bought' it back in January. I'll be reading it as soon as I get through The Corrections by Jonathan Frazen. As I skipped a doorstopper last month I'll be doing double duty in May: Franzen being one, Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley being the other. I don't see any reason why I can't get through Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chaing in addition to everything else. How's that for reading variety?

I now own two hardback books from Night Shade Books and they are both very, very nice. Not yet enough to do one of my book reviews but they are slightly better than the norm. That said, I still hated the uber-deckled pages of Catherynne Valente amazing, The Habitation of the Blessed. The book almost looked unfinished to my eyes. I guess they can't do it all.

Bar Golf happened yesterday. As always, it was great fun, lots of people, perfect weather. I didn't play the score card assigned to me as I've previously eagled every hole on the course in past years. I did a 'choose your own adventure' route with some other friends. The end results were probably the same...

Well that covers 'reading' and 'rum.' As to 'red shells,' if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time you'll know I've never mentioned video games here as they completely fell out of my life about the time I started blogging. I'll have to change that part in the header.

George R.R. Martin and Trains

2011-04-30T10:46:00.000-04:00

So I'm on the train going to work reading "Skin Trade" from Dreamsongs Volume II (I'm guessing "nocturne" is too over used as a title and with my musical background I think the word should be reserved for Chopin). I come to a page break and put my book away as I'm getting off at the next stop. I notice the college aged looking kid across from me is reading something from "A Song of Ice and Fire" (which ever book has the red cover), a forty something-ish woman further back is reading Armageddon Rag and as I'm stepping off the train I see a lady coming on with Fevre Dream in her hands. It would seem Time Magazine had a point in naming Martin influential. At the least, he was extraordinarily popular yesterday at this particular place and time.

Unrelated to trains or Martin, I just got my copy of Michael Swanwick's Dancing with Bears from the mailbox! You should be jealous.

The Habitation of the Blessed by Catherynne M. Valente

2011-04-15T17:07:00.003-04:00

There is a tree in a garden that bears fruit. The fruit of the tree are books and while not exactly forbidden it is certainly a tree of knowledge. Knowledge that can bring about enlightenment, change, power, and, at least for this novel, a foreboding sense of despair.

Hiob, a priest, has led a delegation of his brethren to India in search of the fabled Christian kingdom of Prester John. In Valente's story John is not a myth but a real person who himself fled the icon wars of twelfth-century Constantinople and traveled east on a mission to find the church established by Saint Thomas. What he finds after crossing an ocean of sand on a ship of which he is the sole survivor is either the garden of Eden or a hell worse than any he had imagined.

Hiob and his fellow priest arrive at a village and find a strange woman dressed in yellow. She allows them to rest and make camp there and also allows Hiob to select any three books from the above mentioned tree. Like any fruit, the books oxidize and rot as they are exposed to the elements. Also like fruit, the books are subject to bruising and need to be treated very carefully. Hiob selects his three books: The Word in the Quince; The Book of the Fountain; and The Scarlet Nursery; and immediately sets to reading and copying them in his own non-perishable script.

The Word in the Quince is an account of John's time upon leaving Constantinople. We hear him describe the land he has come to, Pentexore, how every living thing has been given eternal life through a replusive fountain of youth, how anything planted in the ground will grow and flourish and bear fruit--from a silver ring, a book, one's lunch or even an unfortunate soul who found a way to die in the land of everlasting life. He describes the red, blue and white lions, genderless winged peoples, and other strange inhabitants of Pentexore. John is confronted with their existence, intelligence, and culture while trying to cling to his own Christian convictions and knowledge that tells him all these strange creatures are devils.

The Book of the Fountain is Hagia's, John's wife, account of his entrance into Pentexore. Her perspective is personal and also representative of how John is perceived by all the land's other inhabitants. He is seen as a baby, ignorant to all yet obstinate to education as all he is told is decidedly against church belief. In Hagia's account we can see the conflict of the people of Pentexore wanting to embrace John and his adamant refusal to be one of them. Of the three books The Book of the Fountain is the most heavily laden with foreshadowing as we see John sin--by his standards--time and again and how the seeds of his pride will grow, bear fruit and, what I assume will be disclosed in later volumes, ultimately destroy Pentexore. John's faith, and his adherence is to deny the land beneath his feet and the people living there. No one understands why John must deny every indulgence that would make him happy or risk a final death in the hope of eternal life when the people of Pentexore have all of that at the present.

The Scarlet Nursery was my favorite book of the three. It is told by a caretaker to three royal children. Through the stories told to the children we learn of the history, culture and nature of life in Pentexore: how, "among the immortal, good manners are as important as bread and water," and how immortal life grants an insensitivity to being well… alive. Living in the land of perfect abundance gets old. The stories of The Scarlet Nursery tell of how the people deal with the monotony of everlasting life, and of a rulers wish, "to discover a city where folk did not consider that living forever meant drowning in the worst cruelties they could fashion." And when one lives forever, they become as insensitive to cruelties as they do to living.

The narrative is rather linear with only small interruptions of Hiob and The Scarlet Nursery not immediately relating to John's life. It's hard to pinpoint an apex of the book as there is no climatic battle or traditional focal point that all events build toward. Instead what propels one to keep reading is the same wonder of discovery that John relates as we read about a people and a setting unlike any other. For me, this book and others like it should be what readers think of when 'epic fantasy' is mentioned. It is expansive and extremely dense. More than anything it is exotic and will leave you in awe of Valente's originality and creativity. While what drives the plot maybe a bit obscure, the legend of Prester John is about a Christian King… and in his coronation lies what I would deem to be the 'high-water' mark of the novel.

I'm honestly not sure I'd care about the quality of the novel's plot, characters, or subtext so strongly has Valente's command of prose arrested my senses. She assigned herself a tough task of describing a fictitious land inhabited by a bizarre population and succeed in creating a mythology and history that she could easily never exhaust. Everything from John's sunburnt scalp to the flowers and exotic animals are described in the most vivid, living color that words can possibly capture; all without coming across as overwrought. Sometimes the images she gives us are, quite literally, too beautiful to imagine, and other times they are equally stunning with a nightmarish quality readers should be repulsed by to some extent but even in these moments I was still thinking, 'but it's so pretty…' (I'm trying really hard not to gush about how much I love Valente's prose.)

As overripe fruit is wont to do, the three books picked by Hiob erode and rot before the end of a single one is reached. As The Habitation of the Blessed is only book one of three I can acknowledge the irony in not wanting to know what comes next, rather in future installments I want to know if my suspicions about this book will be confirmed. (What or rather 'who' is this tree of knowledge? Where are Hiob and his delegation of priests when they come across the woman in yellow and who are the people that seem to serve her and why? I have ideas to answer all these questions but discovering how Valente resolves matters will be much more fun than my speculation.)

It doesn't hurt to know a little history of the myth (in my past reading I thought people at the time assumed John's kingdom to be in sub-Saharan Africa), the eastern Christian church circa 1100AD, or Nestorianism, but none of that is necessary either. There is nothing in this book so esoteric as to not be discernible with only what is given. The Tower of Babel, the fountain of youth, the 'tomb' of Saint Thomas and the most beautiful perversion of the beatitudes are parts of the backbone of the story. This is historical fiction based on a medieval hoax at it's best. If you are seeking something not from the mold of standard epic fantasy with European culture in a secondary world filled with elves, swords and sorcery that Martin and Erikson seemed to have perfected; The Habbitation of the Blessed will serve you well.

The Red Tree by Caitlain R. Kiernan

2011-04-12T19:20:00.002-04:00

Sarah Crowe is writer who has no grip on life. After her first forty years in the South--Alabama and Georgia--and one tumultuous relationship that fatally ends, Sarah tries to restart her life and writing career in 'middle of nowhere' Rhode Island.

Perhaps the most unique aspect of the novel is how many voices readers encounter. There is Sarah's agent who published a 'preface' to The Read Tree, which is a journal of Sarah's final days (we learn from the very start of the book that Sarah committed suicide). There is Sarah's journal itself, which obviously makes up the overwhelming majority of the book. There is Sarah's fiction: we are given at least one short story and an excerpt from one of her novels. Finally, there is the voice of the home's previous tenant and co-author of The Red Tree Dr. Harvey, who also committed suicide.

Kiernan is very impressive in that all her voices sound real and authentic. They are each distinct and hold up very well. It's a chore to make the singular voice of a novel be strong enough to hold reader interest let alone so many varying one.

The first one-hundred plus pages of the book recount near all of Sarah's life up until the present. The pace is slower than need be and easily could have been jump started with stronger foreshadowing. Even had the reasons to keep reading been made stronger and if the novel had started a third of the way in I'm not sure there would have much more to work with.

The plot is rather thin in this near four-hundred page book. The house in Rhode Island where Sarah lives has a disturbing history. It's previous tenant Dr. Harvey, a Ph D in parapsychology, was studying the history of the house and the eponymous tree. There are disturbing tales of violence, murder, and worse. Aside from living in the same house, Sarah's strongest connection to Dr. Harvey is finding his typewriter and unfinished manuscript about the tree in the house's basement. The tree is depicted as an alter of sorts as well as a pseudo-sentient being; it commands people to do terrible things and leaves leaves in places they shouldn't be; often times in places it should be impossible for leaves to be.

Sarah's new life in Rhode Island is anything but productive. She never once makes an effort to work on the novel she has been paid an advance to write. Reading the average person's diary is altogether boring if you don't know the individual. Sarah is no different. Her journal entries are repetitious and full of digressions and while she constantly points these two flaws out they are, in fact, still there. The journal feels real and so the writing is realistically flawed. For the reader, this is not positive authenticity. She obsesses over the tree and harps on and on about its domineering presence, but understand that the tree doesn't do anything. It's a tree. Strange things do happen but nothing is ever explained.

There is a psychological factor to the book that is a lot of fun and at it's best, nothing short of brilliant. By the book's end you will certainly be wondering, "what happened?" and wanting to know what was real. However, Kiernan's subtlety in conveying Sarah's mental state is so well conceived and controlled, and the pacing is so evenly measured that plot events were robbed of power. By the book's end I could reflect on events that could have made a bigger impact had I been given more information, earlier. Sarah's mental deterioration is phenomenal in retrospect: having finished the book. Appropriately, her instability is difficult to detect while reading the book. Thus, none of the book's events felt concrete enough to truly have impact. It is positively disturbing how well Kiernan manages Sarah's mental collapse. I hope you'll note the irony of these 'criticisms.' I think Kiernan is a great writer but somehow her strengths compiled to work against her.

Fans of Kiernan don't need to pay any heed to my comments as they have no doubt already read the book. New comers to Kiernan wanting to get a taste may be better advised to check out some of the authors short fiction, as I think it is much stronger. Ultimately, the immediacy of fear and obsession with the red tree that the novel's characters were so obsessed with was never conveyed to me with equal strength.

I think The Red tree is an exceptionally well written novel. And for reasons that are genuinely very hard to point out--yet enjoyable to read about--it is a very creepy novel. Unfortunately, I didn't think it was a very interesting novel.

Vacation, Reading, Good and Bad

2011-04-11T11:46:00.001-04:00

I've never been good at reading on vacation. I always seem to bring the wrong kind of book. I don't particularly care for 'throw away' paperbacks and I'm so fussy about reading in comfort (quiet, my favorite chair, ottoman, rum and coke) that I think I'm gonna give up on reading in all further vacations.

Reading on the beach is anathema to me. There is sun, an ocean, friends, new people to meet, too many drinks (if there is such a thing); reading is not going to happen in that setting for me. Ever. Even in less-awesome-than-the-beach locales reading just isn't happening. Perhaps I'm too much a creature of habit and unable to break my routine.

As I have had a few days off from the other job this month--the technical term is furlough-- I planned on getting some extra reading done. I don't see much extra in the making. The Red Tree almost killed me. Talk about having to power through... If I took this with me on a trip I would not have finished it. That was last week. This week I've been getting through The Habitation of the Blessed, which I feel certain will be the best book I read this year. Even though I'm enjoying this book so much, I feel like I should have finished it by now. The next time I have time away from work, I'm going to fully enjoy whatever I'm doing and not plan on any reading.

Expect reviews of both The Red Tree and The Habitation of the Blessed shortly. And as far as good and bad go; these are two books that I would not normally leave comments for. I don't like being super negative and when I like something as much as I do The Habitation of the Blessed it becomes difficult for me to express anything more than, "This is awesome." At the least, it should be a good exercise for me.

Back to normalcy and the everyday rut of my life. Perhaps now that things have settled I'll still have a chance of doing a lot of reading this month.

The Month in Review and of Things to Come

2011-03-31T23:26:00.001-04:00

This month was long and slow and at the same time went by in a flash. All in all, it was rather benign as my world goes. I did a lot of book buying. As there are no more Borders going out of business sales in my area I can't see myself picking up this quantity of books ever again, but who knows.

I read and left comments for The French Lieutenant's Woman and Blue and Gold. I read and did not leave comments for Solider of Sidon by Gene Wolfe and Firebirds Soaring edited by Sharyn November. Wolfe is amazing and the books concerning Latro, a wounded Roman mercenary with both retrograde and anterograde amnesia (yeah, it's a tough read), continue to be some of my favorites. November's anthology caught me off guard: it was seriously awesome.

Flatland by Kara Dalkey may just be my favorite short story ever. That's part of the fun in finding a new book of short stories; a chance to discover many different authors with different styles all working to the same level of quality. I will certainly be tracking down the first two installments of this collection solely on the strength of Firebirds Soaring. I only hope that November is able to continue the series.

Now that I'm done praising this collection, I have to say I didn't get it; and that is why I left no commentary for it. It tries to work the teenage/young adult/adult angle and all I can do is scratch my head. I understand 'teenage' and what that word encompasses. But should that literature include lots of swearing and sex? No? Yes? Teenagers sure do swear and have lots of sex... Understand, I don't care either way ( and Firebirds Soaring certainly has both ) but if a book has such broad appeal, why not just sell it as a 'regular old ass book?' Firebird is a young adult publisher but when trying to hit such a broad spectrum I think they lose credibility; if the book has mass market appeal don't pigeon hole it by mentioning three specific markets you want to entice.

That said, the collection was awesome. I'll be buying all the others. (Perhaps, I'm an 'old adult?')

My work hours have been severely cut for April so I'll have more time to read and less time to spend money I don't have. I'm gonna forgo doorstoppers this month because I want to. They slow me down; I'm sure of it. Plus, I read two this month and two in January so I don't feel bad. I'm gonna get through a lot of stuff this month and I'm gonna leave comments for everything I read. (I hate making these commitments known on my blog.) The official theme of April reading is books written by women. Check back often and regularly because I think I'm gonna have a lot to say.

Books and Coffee

2011-03-31T12:02:00.001-04:00

I'll do the bad news first as it is only eleven o'clock in the morning and I'd like to think the rest of the day will be fail free.

I had a terrible cup of coffee at the used bookstore coffee house that shall not be named. It was watered down crap with my own measures of cream and sugar. I don't like weak coffee, but even the insubstantial flavor that was there wasn't good. I'm a snob when it comes to drinking anything, and I'm aware, but don't we expect a little bit more from small independent 'craft' baristas?

It was only two dollars but I should have known something was wrong when the size options given were 16oz and 22oz. When does anyone ever need 16oz of coffee? If it's gonna be any good; they aren't gonna give you that much of it...

Okay, I'm done. I got that out of my system.

The last book buying binge of the foreseeable future just happened. I could have waited till Sunday when everything was a dollar, but I don't feel like going back out there and dealing with the crowd. 80% isn't quite as nice as 'All books $1' but, I held nothing back.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel and Great House by Nicole Krauss were staring me down as I entered Borders. Both of those have made a lot of noise in recent days. I'm really excited about Krauss, and surprised I picked up Mantel. Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin and Glass Room by Simon Mawer round out what the bookstore dictated as my 'literary fiction' purchases. I haven't read much Le Guin but I love every word I have read and there was no reservation in picking Lavinia up. Mawer was on the Man Booker Prize list a few years ago and caught my attention there.

The other five books I bought were fantasy-ish, or at least that is the shelf they were placed on. The Company by K.J. Parker; Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor; Lonely Werewolf Girl by Martin Millar; Warriors edited by George Martin and Gardner Dozois; and Dust of Dreams by Steven Erikson.

Parker I'm familiar and comfortable with. I'm already planning to start the Millar soon as I've wanted to get around to him for a very long time. Warriors was the only, 'why not?' purchase. I'd planned on not getting this but the good press keeps coming and it all came to the front of my mind when I saw it on the shelf. I've talked about Okorafor earlier and eagerly await getting to that book as well.

I guess I'm off the fence with Malazan Book of the Fallen. Erikson has been in my mind, if not my TBR list, for awhile. I am terrified to think that I bought book-God-knows-what in a series of heaven-only-knows-how-many. Although I think I've read somewhere that the series has ended.

Not too bad for $47.42. Only three of the ten actually count as doorstoppers by my reckoning but a few are some really long four-hundred pagers...

This most recent haul really made me think about book stores. I like 'em. I like browsing shelves and flipping books over to read about 'em. eReaders just ain't ever gonna work for me. I think an eReader would save me serious money as I can't imagine a shopping binge on such a device being any fun... I don't even see my buying one.

I don't know if anyone can sympathize but I literally want to read about fifty books at once. Alas, I can only manage one at a time.

Shopping

2011-03-26T13:29:00.000-04:00

So I went to a used book store sales event. Buy two get one free your store points still apply. I'm not sure how they make any money or if they only want to move inventory. There were a ton of people there; okay not a ton, but a lot. More than the people and the books that I was surrounded by, the music caught me off guard.

It was either satellite radio's 'Acid Trip' station or the Joker's playlist. I couldn't make this up: two songs of Vegas era Elvis, Santana's Soul Sacrifice, Brahm's Symphony in F the third movement, and a live version of In memory of Elizabeth Reed that I hadn't heard before. I'd call it bizarre but even that word fails to capture the scene.

The store's about 12,000 square feet and it was full of people. So full, I didn't feel comfortable shopping in the frenzy and left after the above 'playlist' was over. Three books was all I was able to score with all the distractions. Dancing Girls and Other Stories, and Bluebeard's Egg by Margaret Atwood, and Blood and Iron by Elizabeth Bear.

I'm greatly looking forward to all three as well as tracking down this unknown-to-me Allman Brothers recording.

The Year's First Defeat

2011-03-25T10:44:00.000-04:00

I did not finish Slaughter House Five by Kurt Vonnegut.

I read fifty pages as I customarily do with a new book to try to get a feel for things; nothing. I read another fifty pages due to reputation and all the praise I've heard. It wasn't for me. Furthermore this isn't one I plan on re-visiting. I'll be trading it in tomorrow morning.

It's easy to read and I could have powered through, but there was nothing of remote interest happening for me. That book nearly killed me, "So it goes."

It had to happen sometime.

The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles

2011-03-22T19:05:00.001-04:00

"What are we faced with in the nineteenth century? An age where woman was sacred; and where you could buy a thirteen-year-old girl for a few pounds--a few shillings, if you wanted her for only an hour or two. (…) Where the female body had never been so hidden from view; and where every sculptor was judged by his ability to carve naked women. (…) Where it was universally maintained that women do not have orgasms; and yet every prostitute was taught to simulate them." Pages 276-277

Nineteenth century Victorian England is the epitome of boring in my mind, and so to find myself so heavily engrossed and throughly enjoying a novel within this setting meant that I was holding something very special in my hands. The French Lieutenant's Woman is far from what it seems: the title is misleading as the eponymous character is secondary and merely a vehicle of destruction, the narrative is near impossible to take seriously due to the author eternally making fun of both the story he's telling and how absurd it's events can seem to modern readers, and finally--and what is the most apt reason that I could so throughly enjoy a book set in nineteenth century Victorian England--despite all Fowles' research, affected dialogue and period prose, The French Lieutenant's Woman is anything but a Victorian novel. (Apropos the title, upon finishing the book I thought The French Lieutenant's Whore would have been a much better title, but not for the reasons you think.)

The story is as simple as you would expect given the novel's historical setting. Charles and Ernestina are engaged to be married. They are both absurdly rich, and never perform any duty which would be misconstrued as work. Ernestina has 'Oprah' money while 'Charles' is closer to a meager 'Steve Jobs.' Much tension and drama comes due to the disparity of their financial stations. Charles is older, educated and an experienced worldly world traveler. Ernestina is very young, very pretty, willing sheltered and excellent in the realm of knitting and home decorating. There is a third person, Sarah, who is everything that Ernestina is not: smart, beguiling… interesting. Sarah's claim to fame resides in the fact that it is prominently known to all the world that she has actually had sex and a chance meeting between her and Charles changes lives. I'm sure many a novel has been written with less material than what I have given above and I'm equally sure many a Victorian writer has written something substantial with less, however, I've yet to mention the main character in The French Lieutenant's Woman, a weapon that no writer 'of the time' could posses: John Fowles.

Authors often insert themselves in their stories; Fowles is the narrator. He offers commentary, insight, and even explanation as to plot developments taking the course they did. In using such a simple story as outlined above, Fowles does as many writers of the time did and subtly introduce themes of greater significance by ruining his characters lives. What he doesn't do is apologize for the complete lack of subtly in breaking through the fourth wall.

Fowles talks directly to his readers. He tells us of the pain and difficulty of being favored and extraordinarily wealthy in nineteenth century England. He enlightens us to the hypocrisies of the era (as in the opening quote) and with the greatest of mocking humor he gives real insight as to why simple situations in the life and times of the fictional characters he created create such gravity and in turn enhances his own story.

To say the book is about sex is a bit base even by my standards. (And after all, Victorians didn't have sex.) To say it's not about sex is false. And therein lies one of the book's strongest enigmas and enduring accomplishments: despite all Fowles efforts and what was surely a colossal amount research he knowingly didn't--couldn't--write a Victorian era novel.

It becomes a running joke when the narrator, Fowles, makes continued references to anachronisms as airplanes and computers; none is stronger than his mention of existentialism being the default structure of interpretation among readers of the time. (The novel was written in 1969.) Today's reader would reply to the drama that Fowles' characters go through in the tone of voice of, "Take your prozac, quit your bitchin' and move on…" as the narrator, Fowles gives credences and ultimately gravity to the situation by pedantically explaining why circumstances were profound to the parties involved. It is also Fowles, the narrator, who mercilessly mocks his characters from a distance as he makes them suffer in the narrative and it is this mocking tone that we, the readers, can clearly hear the voice of Raskolnikov or Yossarian; the eye rolling levity found in a situation that is obviously very serious to one intimate with the circumstance. There is a necessity in Fowles having this tone of voice and not his characters: at the time the story takes place,1869, existentialism had yet to hit England, yet, it is through this lense that Fowles presents the novel to his readers.

There are multiple betrayals in the novel and none greater than the shocker that befalls Charles and the manner that the truth becomes known. At this point, about two-thirds the way through, we can see that Ernestina is and always has been a Victorian woman, and yet Charles and Sarah are unknowingly striving, perhaps even against their will, to be the harbingers of a new era. They attempt, and utterly fail, to be more modern people: honest in all things, realistic, open and not so pretentiously phony as the cant of Victorian life. They were way ahead of the culture curve and both end up suffering. Should you think I've given anything away concerning the plot you're wrong: everything falls apart, there is no happily ever after; everyone dies… okay, not really.

Sarah is perhaps one of the more destructive characters you can come across in a book. She seems ready to ignite under the pressure of her own weight and is determined to take someone else with her. She knowingly, or unknowingly, fights against conventions of the time and in their ruin--and through today's contemporary lense--can only be seen as progressive woman. She forces many other characters to change and grow well beyond the perimeters of Victorian norms. While she remains the catalyst, Charles is undoubtedly the lead character. This may seem backward, but for women and Victorian society to progress, it was primarily men that had to change. Men had to start seeing women as something greater than what the times allowed them to be.

The simplicity of the plot is deceptive much like all good Victorian novels. The rewards are a greater understanding of an era that none today can fully wrap their heads around. This is a damn good book and one that is near impossible to stereotype; it isn't Victorian, it's too phony to be existentialism and even the catch-all, ludicrous, nomenclature 'post-modern' fails to satisfy. There is some horrible poetry. (Charles's own, not the chapter quotes.) There is the worst depiction of a sex scene ever--it was unfortunately probably very true to how things where for both parties at the time. (Well, can you imagine Victorian English actually having good sex?) Ugh… I usually dedicate at least a paragraph to what I think are shortcomings of a novel in my commentaries, there isn't that much material to do so.

No matter what you're reading preference, if you like to read, (or perhaps to better qualify, if you like to read and read regularly) you will find much to enjoy in The French Lieutenant's Woman.

Blue and Gold by K. J. Parker

2011-03-20T21:49:00.000-04:00

I was so ready to not like this book. To say that the last few pages 'redeemed' the story would be a bit too strong, but it did take the last few pages to put things into focus. As with Purple and Black, another short novel by Parker, to discuss the plot would give away the aforementioned redeeming surprised. I won't indulge any spoilers, but the material that moonlights as 'plot' was my primary contention.

Saloninus is the narrator and certainly a unique enough character to merit first person narration. He is one of the more self-serving and quasi larger-than-life characters you'll encounter in any book. He is completely devoid of the scruples of conscience, and while not quite a criminal mastermind he is somewhat of an expert crook among many other things (alchemist, sculptor, poet, academic, etc et al). He is also a liar and extremely entertaining to follow around for one-hundred pages.

Saloninus is in the employ of a prince who gives him unlimited funding in the pursuit of turning base metal into gold. We never see this process happen as Saloninus preaches it's impossibility. We do see Saloninus murder, lie, deceive, steal and be a general not too nice person.

Literary fiction often comes under fire for being beautiful writing, engaging and entertaining with no plot; such was my initial complaint with Blue and Gold. We see the various degrees of Saloninus' character in his past, and present but there was never a reason given, or even one to discern, for his actions. He had a great job with amazing pay and benefits, a pretty wife he didn't like, but it wasn't as if he snapped and went crazy, rather it is presented that his behavior is the only way he could possibly act given his nature. Happily, (not 'luckily' Parker seems too good a writer and in too much control of plot events to say 'luckily') the shared events of Saloninus' life are too much fun to read about and ultimately the novel too short for for me to call it flawed. We are given reasoning and grounding for Saloninus being Saloninus at the end in a fun surprise that Parker seems fond of and expert in conceiving.

The novel is set in an antiquity of Parker's creation but the language used, particularly Saloninus' voice is contemporary. It was a bit jarring at first but I was able to get over today's profanity and vernacular quickly.

Subterranean Press continues to confuse me as they contrast the quality of their books with a lack of copyediting or even general proof reading before printing. It's more than a handful of errors and in a book this short they are all highly visible. Unfortunately, it's a befuddling, consistent issue I've had with Subterranean Press.

Blue and Gold is quick, dirty, and a whole lot of fun. Find a copy. Buy it. Whenever there is nothing worth watching on TV (and when is there?) or it's raining outside, or you're bored and need to kill an hour; read and enjoy.